


Len and Micks Giganta Problem or When Mick Rory Met His Match

by YellowPeep



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Super Friends, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: #GiWave, LegionOfDoom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 21:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 35,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowPeep/pseuds/YellowPeep
Summary: Len joins the Legion of Doom... finds Giganta... Len uses Giganta to lure Mick... Happily ever after... with snacks! Originally written fall of 2016 to sooth my Mick Rory hurt and use the knowledge that Lenny Snart was joining the Legion of Doom. I wrote it over the winter hiatus... it just ran away with my head. Started with a clip in my head of Mick Rory looking up Gigantas skirt during a heist... "I see London, I see France..." and it took off from there. It burned my brain every day for a month. There are a lot of ancillary characters in here from the Legends Crew, Legion of Doom in the cartoons and TV show, even some folks from other DC towns of Detroit and Gotham in the comics.





	1. Len Snarts Giant Problem

Len watches as Mick buys a beer at the bar and waits for him to notice that he is already here and waiting. He’s seems surprised that Len actually showed up, even says so, and looks nervous and uncomfortable as he joins Len at the table. After a minute or two of watching the pyromaniac painfully trying to express emotions, Len just tells him to spit the words out.  
  
“You’re the best guy I ever knew,” Mick rumbles, “You may not think you’re a hero but you’re a hero to me…you got that?”  
  
“Yeah, I got it.” Len responds softly, blue eyes fixed on his partners face.  
  
“See ya around.” Mick shoulders hunched, visibly distressed, turns and leaves the bar.   
  
Brows furrowed, Len watches Mick walk out of the club. **What the hell was that about? He looks like hell. He’s got to be on something stronger than beer.** He tosses some money down on the table and saunters out to the parking lot. He pulls up his motorcycle goggles over his face and retrieves his helmet, snaps it on firmly and reaches for his bike.  
  
There is a flash of red lightning and tall blond man in a yellow tight leather outfit appears out of thin air five feet away, staring at him, a predatory grin on his face. **One of those Star Lab freaks. What did I do to piss HIM off?** Len reaches for his gun and before he can pull it from the holster under his coat, the man is on him, gripping him roughly at the waist, hoisting him up over his leather clad shoulder.  
  
Len clamps his lips tight as a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and sound assaults his senses, tamping his mewling fear down into the small box where he keeps his childhood. He is grateful that the goggles hide the panic in his wide eyes.  
  
Suddenly, it ends and Len finds himself standing motionless and alone in the middle of what appears to be a swamp, the moist soil clinging to his polished boots.   
  
“Welcome to the Hall of Doom, Mr. Snart.” A cultured, friendly baritone calls out from behind him.  
  
The thief turns and swallows his surprise under a layer of cool calm. Schooling his features, he examines the large black dome resting on the swamps surface. A long ramp leads from the ground behind him to an open doorway in its face.   
  
He unfastens his helmet, “Good to see you, _Malcom Merlyn_.” He flings it into the swamp.  
  
“What an incredible smell you’ve discovered.” Len drawls sarcastically as he pulls off the goggles and stuffing them in his jacket pocket.  
  
“We need to talk.” Merlyn smiles cheekily, arms wide as he walks down the extended walkway. “We’d like to offer you a _new_ line of work, something quite a bit more profitable than robbing banks and stealing from museums.”  
  
“Not interested… I’m into it for the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase.” Len shrugs his shoulders. “I love this game and I’m very good at it.”  
  
“Oh I think we can provide _plenty_ of thrills. How would you like to expand your reach to the entire world and beyond?” The assassin turns and gestures up the ramp.  
  
+++++  
  
A few minutes later, Len finds himself in a large domed room at the top of the structure. The room is empty except for a large curved meeting table surrounded by high-backed chairs. At its apex is a podium.  
  
“Go on, make your pitch.” Len crosses his arms, eyes fixed on the other man, “I can see you’re dying to.”  
  
Merlyn leans against the end of the table, “My companions and I are each masters in our own disciplines but individually, we began run into _complications_ as so-called _heroes_ began to rise against us, exploiting weaknesses in our reach, influence and skills. _They_ work together, shoring up their own gaps through collaboration and information sharing. _We_ need to as well if we want to remain competitive.”  
  
“Who’s we?” Len raises an eyebrow, “I don’t just jump into a new crew with my eyes closed.”  
  
The door to the right slides open and two men enter. One is the mysterious yellow speedster and the other is a tall, pale man with snow white hair.   
  
Merlyn waves a hand towards the pair, “Eobard Thawne, the fastest man alive… at least for the next couple of months.”  
  
Thawne glares at him then shrugs. “I think we’ll fix his little red wagon soon enough.”  
  
“Damien Darhk, businessman and master of the occult.”  
  
Darhk grins and nods, “Don’t forget my army of VERY loyal mercenaries.”  
  
“Snart, you can continue to plague Central City until the Flash puts you behind bars for good or join us and stay at the top of your game, pulling off scores you could only dream of before.”  
  
“I don’t know who this Flash is that you’re talking about….” Len begins.  
  
The speedster interrupts, slapping his own forehead. “I forgot to mention…” He grins. “I can travel through time. Remember that Star Labs explosion? Right now a young man is lying in a coma and when he wakes in less than a year, he will be able to run as fast as me. He will make it his life’s mission to protect Central City from the likes of you.”  
  
Merlyn stands and joins the others. “We have unlimited resources and access to advanced technology, magic and time itself. What we need is a criminal whose specialties include intelligence gathering, planning operations, and recruiting and training independent operatives. Someone who is accomplished in forming merry bands of Rogues to further the aims of our collective.”  
  
“Rogues…cute.” Len huffs then cocks his head. **Things _have_ been getting a little too easy... boring... hm... maybe it _is_ time for me to step up my game.** He drops his hands to his hips and purses his delicate lips. “Alright, I’m in with one proviso, I have final say on all of my teams and operations. If I deem the risk too high, I _will not_ waste valuable personnel for little to no gain.”  
  
Merlyn looks at the other two, they nod and shrug, then turns back to him. “You have a deal. Welcome to the Legion of Doom.”


	2. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Cold in Here

Len lays claim to one of the medium-sized storage rooms that has direct access to the vehicle bay. After proofing the walls against eavesdropping from outside and upgrading the door locks, he removes a third of the storage shelves and creates a briefing area, a workshop, and a walled office space. Building his staff projections from the pool of people he has worked with in the past, he realizes that he needs a solid second-in-command and a dependable supply sergeant.   
  
“What do mean I can’t recruit Mick Rory?” Len snarls at Malcom Merlyn. “Either I have complete control over the recruiting, training and deployment of my Rogues or I’m out.”  
  
“Let me rephrase… you can’t have _this_ Mick Rory… the 2013 version that has never known time travel.” Merlyn smiles. “However, if you run across Mr. Rory during any of our operations, there is a high likelihood that he is the version from the future. Feel free to make every attempt to win over your former partner.”  
  
“Mick will time-travel in the future? Then that wasn’t _my_ Mick that I met at the bar. He acted like he was visiting a ghost, like I was dead.” Lens eyes narrow, he crosses his arms and muses. “Not at all comfortable with _that_ particular thought. Considering he looks like hell, they can’t be that good of a crew. All I have to do is prove to him that I am more of a partner to him than whoever he is running with.”  
  
+++++  
  
He pulls up to a large, reinforced concrete warehouse near the waterfront. Guiding his bike to a parking spot near the front door, he carefully keeps his hands in full view while he pulls off his helmet and stows his motorcycle goggles. Sauntering slowly up the short stairs, he waves two fingers near his temple while staring up at the one visible camera monitoring the door. There is a click and the door pops unlocked. Len enters the short, windowless, metal-lined hallway and walks the 20 feet to the next door. He waits patiently for the click then pushes through into the warehouse itself.  
  
“Hello, Len. Here to buy or sell?” A short, pale woman dressed all in black is standing next to a computer workstation in an aggressive parade rest, feet firmly shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind her back.   
  
“Blacksmith.” Len nods, “Here to buy. Looking to have some custom equipment built for a job.”  
  
She smiles. “Your money is always good here. Standard contract. Fifteen percent deposit plus cost of any supplies purchased prior to delivery. Discretion always.”  
  
He hands over a folder with printouts and a USB data stick. Sitting down, she reaches up and gathers her long black hair into a quick bun. After a few minutes reviewing the physical characteristics of the structure that he wants to penetrate, she points to the outer perimeter. “Okay, to penetrate multiple layers of reinforced concrete quickly you’re going to need a modulated laser cutter. Luckily, you can mount it on a vehicle for portability. This doesn’t address the motion sensors. Nurbin brought a variety of pieces and I haven’t had a chance to fully explore everything but it’s laid out on that long table over there. Why don’t you look over what he brought and see if anything there might work?”  
  
She purses her lips as she continues to work with schematics and lists while he wanders over to the work area, his long fingers skimming the air over the equipment on display.  
  
“What's this?” He points to a black weapon that had an orange fuel tank attached to the side of it. The gun smelled of sulfur and ozone.  
  
She looks up briefly, “Fires highly concentrated, combustible liquid fuel that ignites on contact with the air.”  
  
Len mutters, continuing to wander. “I don't need to heat things up. I need to slow them down.”  
  
He flips up the lid on a metal case exposing a matte gray gun-shaped device. He runs his fingers over its angular surface then plucks it from the foam, wrapping his right hand around the grip and resting the barrel on the palm of his left.  
  
“And this?”  
  
“That might be exactly what you need.” She looks back at her display. “He said it was stolen from S.T.A.R. Labs after the incident, barely any security. Emits some sort of substance. I'm not sure what it is. Like a white flame, but it's not hot, it's cold.”  
  
“Glasses look like they're made of the same tech.” He allows the gun to dangle at his side and pulls the goggles free. “What are they for?”  
  
“The glare.” She gestures to an open area at the end of workspace, a row of human-sized targets line the back wall. “Go ahead and test it out.”  
  
Len pulls on the glasses and strides purposefully to the end of room. He pauses just before the red stripe on the floor denoting the firing line then steps forward with his right foot, extends his arm and fires a short stream of bright white, intensely cold material at the centermost target.  It coats the head and torso in a thick layer of ice.   
  
“Near as I can figure, it’s as if the liquid pulls energy from water vapor, changing its state, and converts the energy to light, depositing the ice it creates in the process on any surface that it impacts.”  
  
The thief strikes a couple more dummies, varying the intensity and duration of the stream and examining how it changes the result. As he turns around, he sees Blacksmith leaning back in her chair, watching him with a smug grin on her face.  
  
“Looks like a natural extension of you, like it was made for you. Go ahead and keep it…”she smirks. “ _Captain Cold._ ”  
  
He smiles, amused by the label, and raises the weapon to rest its barrel on his shoulder.   
Spinning her chair back to face her workstation, she waves him over. Pointing at the screen, “So here is a mockup of the device. I have some of the materials needed, including access to a suitable vehicle. However, there is some equipment that I cannot duplicate, at least, without having an opportunity to examine it with my own hands.”  
  
Scrolling to display a short list, she lays a finger on the first item, “This piece is the laser array. Even if I could get access to the proof of concept, it will take at least a month to assemble. Time-wise, I recommend simply taking the piece from the facility where it is located.“  
  
Trailing it to the second item, “These dampeners are made of a custom alloy and are only produced by Forge Industries. I’d need at least four dampeners.”  
  
“The last item…” She pauses, pulling her finger from the screen and wiping it on her thigh, “… is a manufacturing tool that I need to fuse the dampeners to the power assembly. It belongs to Ferris Boyle. Let’s just say that he and I do not share the same views on what constitutes _merchandise_. Ever since he found out about my new _special talents_ , he has been attempting to add me to his stable. I mean that in the literal sense.”  
  
“I’ve avoided a couple of kidnap attempts and my drones have repelled a couple of breech attempts on my warehouse. The reason I have Nurblins complete inventory is because I caught him attempting to plant a device on my security controls. After a very _intense_ one-on-one conversation, he left his entire inventory as an apology.” She snorts. “If Boyle didn’t have powerful friends, I would have removed him from the gene pool after the first attempt.”  
  
Lens eyes narrow and he frowns. “I’ve got a proposition for you. If, in the process of obtaining this chemical fusing processor, he falls down with a fatal case of frostbite, would you consider joining my team?”  
  
He leans up against the desk, carefully laying the cold gun next to her monitor. “I’ve got powerful partners, too, and a more secure location from which you can operate from. I’m not asking you to give up the Network, just move your personal base of operations and create on my behalf, with more than adequate compensation for your time and effort, of course.”   
  
“Hmmm…” She cocks her head, eyeing him speculatively, “You’ve operated in good faith in the past, and honored every deal that we’ve made. Make this happen and I will work with you. We can hammer out the fine details afterwards.”


	3. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Rogue Gorilla

Len rides his bike up the long driveway of lavish estate. He found it amusing that the supplier had already instructed his guards to let him pass before he had even approached the main gate. After parking his bike just under the covered drive by the front door, he tosses his helmet on the seat, pulls down his new goggles, adjusts his blue parka, and saunters to the large, elaborate wooden double doors. He is escorted inside and is immediately greeted by Ferris Boyle.  
  
“Welcome, Mr. Snart! Your reputation proceeds you! How may I be of assistance today? Some new weapon perhaps? Let’s show you my current inventory and see what peaks your interest.”  
  
Len follows him into a wing of the house that has been converted to a small work space and a large display showroom. The work space is very clean and well-organized with tools neatly put away in rolling cabinets and various pieces of diagnostic and manufacturing equipment along a section of wall. Weapons and devices are carefully laid out against black velvet on glass tables or hanging on hooks along the walls. Larger pieces are on free standing pedestals scattered in between the tables. Along the far wall is a row of ten small glass cells, four of which are currently empty.  
  
The man points to some items on an extended glass table. “Here are a few of my latest acquisitions, some are proofs-of-concept, unique, while others are a display models for bulk orders.”  
  
“I’m looking for something a little more… _organic_. Since this _Flash_ has shown up, I’ve decided to up my game by fighting… by adding meta-humans to my permanent roster.“ Len drawls. ”I’d prefer ones that I can train and control with a minimum of fuss.”  
  
“Oh, they are easy to control once you get the collar on them. Each owner is given a control pad, sized to fit in a convenient wrist bracer if you’d prefer, that contains all the codes for their stable.” He taps his own forearm display. “You can permit or deny the use of their abilities and to provide instantaneous _corrective_ feedback at a touch. If they attempt to touch the outer part of their collar, they receive feedback along all surfaces.”  
  
“I have six available, each with a unique talent.” He waves his hands in front of the cells, gesturing at each in turn. “We have a Weather Wizard, can control city-wide weather patterns for maximum destructive effect but also has fine control to create and control smaller effects, such as balls of ice.”  
  
Pacing back and forth, a tall, lean, brown-haired man clenches and unclenches his fists, muttering angrily under his breath. He stops and glares at the weapons dealer as they continue down the hall. In the next room, a lithe young black woman sits on the edge of a bed, her brown eyes staring at the wall across from her, arms folded across her chest. She doesn’t look over when they pass in front of her cell.  
  
“Next is a line-of-sight teleporter, codename Peek-a-Boo. Provided she can set eyes on a location, even through passive light collectors such as telescopes or binoculars, she can teleport to that location. She can also transport at least one additional person or person sized mass with her.”  
  
A pale hairless young man leans against the back wall, arms and legs folded, head tilted back as if lost in his own thoughts.  
  
“Mist can convert his body mass from a solid to a toxic gas. He can infiltrate any location that is not environmentally sealed and impact the lungs of a single target causing fatal effects.”  
  
His head propped up on folded arms, the long, thin man dangled his feet off the end of the bed, humming absently.  
  
“Deathbolt absorbs energy and can project it from his eyes. He does not require line-of-sight but we don’t have a full idea of what materials and at what thickness he can penetrate.”  
  
Leaning against the door, the compact figure stared at the weapons dealer, unblinking, tracking him as he walked past, the cords in his neck strained and his brow furrowed.  
  
“Prism has the ability to manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum and use it to cause intense emotions in others. He can chose which emotion and can affect one or more persons simultaneously.”  
  
He pauses in front of the last cell. A figure is hunched over in the far corner of the small room. Long greasy, tangled, strawberry blond hair trails over a stained hospital gown and pajama bottoms. Leonards eyes narrow as he sees stripes of reddened flesh exposed in the gap in the back ties of the gown. He ignores how the scars on his own back seem to itch and burn in sympathetic response.   
  
“Last, but definitely not least, is this lovely lady. Well, technically, Giganta isn’t a lady… not even human. I purchased this one at a bulk inventory sale from a failed biogenetics engineering firm. She is a female gorilla that was modified through genetic manipulation and exposure to exotic radiation. She retains her original strength and dexterity with an added bonus of the ability to shift her size from her current six foot stature to upwards of 30 feet. Her top height has not been determined. Her caloric demands are also proportional to her resting body weight of 200 pounds. She is currently limited by the flexibility of her collar to 15 feet.”  
  
The curled figure turns her head slightly to look over her shoulder, one bright blue eye visible through the mass of matted hair. Len sucked in a breath, heart dropping in his chest, as she regarded him with a look that he had only seen on Mick Rory’s face. It promised that she would make the entire world pay for what had been done to her, destroying it and herself in the process.  
  
“I will _give_ you all six in exchange for one simple task.” Boyle smiles. “Give me Blacksmith. I know that you went to see her and she allows you entry into her well-fortified warehouse. I will even promise that she completes whatever task you are paying her for so it won’t impact your plans at all.”  
  
Len finally remembers to breathe and looks away, turning back to face his host. “Oh, she’ll definitely finish the tasks I set her… isn’t that right, Blacksmith?”  
  
_”Roger that, Boss. I’ve gained full access to his security systems. His goons are now locked out of the workshop and I’ve denied him access to any wireless based systems. If you would be so kind as to retrieve his toy I can override his passwords.”_  
  
Boyle stops frantically attempting to access his control bracer, panic crawling across his face.  
  
“See, here’s the thing…” Len smirks. “I brought a little gift with me. It seems Blacksmith was rather unhappy with your very _inconvenient advances_. I can’t say I blame her.”  
  
Len steps forward, his face inches from the trembling man. His nimble hand strips the control bracer from the other wrist. He pulls a slim wand out of an inner pocket of his parka and taps it lightly on the face of the display. Turning slightly away, he dances his fingers, exploring the menus. Boyle lunges for a weapon on the nearest display, wrapping his hand around its stock and flipping the power on. Before he can swing back to point the muzzle at Len, the thief had already dropped his hand to the cold gun, pulled it from the holster and had it pointed at him. Firing a long burst, he freezes the man where he stands.  
  
The thief taps one of the icons and all ten doors open up. With a roar, the woman in the corner cell leaps to her feet and charges straight at him, snarling and beating her chest with her fists. She abruptly stops, her face so close to his that he could feel her fetid breath on his skin as she bares her teeth and stares, unblinkingly in his eyes. **Damn… I… she’s just like him… I can’t fail her, too… I let him burn…**   
  
He stands his ground unflinchingly and, without dropping his eyes, presses another control. Her collar clicks open and slides down her neck then falls to the ground. Her fists uncurl as she reaches up to rub her neck. Continuing to meet his gaze, she tilts her head left then right and steps back, lips closing over her teeth.   
  
Dropping her eyes, she glances left then right and walks over to the frozen body. The other six prisoners cautiously exit their cells, gathering around Len.  
  
“What about us?” The weather controller challenges.  
  
Len smiles and presses the release for their collars. They pull them off their necks and toss them in a pile on the floor. Len raises his gun and destroys them.  
  
Staring at the thief, the spectrum metas eyes begin to glow. A large, filthy hand drapes over the top of his skull and the fingers begin to squeeze gently. Giganta hoots a warning in his ear. He swallows audibly and the light dims. She gently shoves his head sideways, releasing it then settles on her haunches.  
  
He smirks. “Let's all go our separate ways. My name is Leonard Snart.”  
  
“I know who you are.” The weather wizard retorts.  
  
“Always pleased to meet a fan. Just remember who it was made sure you didn't get sold off as living weapons.” Len purrs.  
  
“What? You want a _thank you_?” He huffs.  
  
“Who doesn't like a _thank you_?” Len smiles.  
  
“Thank you.” Prism nods, realizing that he wasn’t about to be double crossed.  
  
“You are _so very welcome_.” He tilts his head.  
  
Len taps his ear. “Blacksmith, open a channel to the intercom system.”  
  
_”Roger, Boss.”_  
  
“Attention in the facility. Your boss is dead and I’ve just released six very angry, very powerful meta-humans from their restraints. If you’d like to stay and attempt to fight them, by all means. It’s your funeral.” He taps his ear again. “Release the door locks.”  
  
All but the raggedly dressed woman, run, teleport or trail out as a living gas. Sounds of gunfire and screaming echo from the hallway. She is standing back in front of dead man. She brings her leg up and stomps the bottom of her foot in the center of its chest. It rocks back then falls, shattering into hundreds of ice shards when it hits the tiled floor.  
  
Rolling her shoulders, she looks back at Len, huffs through her nose, grunts and nods. She starts to pad slowly to the open door.   
  
“Wait.”  
  
She pauses.  
  
“Do you have somewhere to go?”

 


	4. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Pretty Woman

“Do you have somewhere go?”  
  
He takes a few slow steps towards her, stowing his gun back in its holster. “I’m offering you protection, safety, food, shelter… whatever you need…”  
  
She turns and stares at him. Huffing slightly through her nose, the giantess approaches him, hands dangling loosely at her sides. She eyes his front up and down slowly then starts to walks a very close, slow circle around him. As she reaches his back, she closes the distance. Len keeps his body still, tamping down his automatic response to turn and defend himself.   
  
He feels her breath on his neck as she sniffs him behind one of his ears, her warm fingers explore his short silvered hair. His scalp feels cold when she removes her hand and finishes her inspection. Nodding firmly, she grunts. Taking his wrist in her hand, she gently raises his hand and attempts to place his palm on her breast.  
  
“No.” He pulls his hand back before it touches the thin fabric covering her chest then smoothly, without pausing, moves his hand to grip her bicep. “ _This_ … this is what you can promise. I would _never_ ask… _never_ demand. You have rights to your own body.”  
  
Her eyes widen then she nods again and flexes her bicep under his long fingers. He squeezes gently in response, smiles and drops his hand to his side.  
  
“Alright, let’s clear the house of hostiles and staff.”  
  
+++++  
  
He taps his ear, “Blacksmith, contact HQ and have them send out a crew to come and clear out the workshop. Tell them to bring a couple of trucks, we’re going to empty this place down to its last antique vase.”  
  
After exploring the study, and busting into the hidden safe, pocketing its contents, the two of them find themselves in an enormous master bedroom. Len smirks as he finds a second hidden safe behind a piece of garish art. Breaking into it easily, he finds it filled with expensive watches, cuff links and, of all things, a black velvet bag filled a lavish set of pink and white diamond jewelry.   
  
While he is cracking the safe, Giganta ambles into the large walk-through closet. As he pockets the jewelry, he hears her purr loudly and the sound of hangers being ripped from a closet. He steps into the room and grins as he watches her clutch an oversized fur coat to her chest, rubbing her cheeks against a sleeve. Together, they walk into the next room.  
  
The master bath is dominated by a sunken bathtub the size of a four-person spa. Mildly amused, Len fiddles with the controls, closing the drain and turning on the faucet controls. **What the…??** He jumps back as a wide stream of water pours out of a line of holes in the wall, arcing into the tub like a waterfall. Giganta hoots excitedly, drops the fur coat and starts stripping out of the dirty hospital clothes.   
  
“Uh..um.” Len is a little thrown by a suddenly nude woman clambering into the pool, standing under the water as it pours over her.  
  
He fishes through a rather large collection of bottles and finds some gentle body wash. As she glances back at him, he puts some on his hands and scrubs it into fragrant bubbles. She snatches it from his grip and proceeds to dump most of it on her head and over her body then roughly scrubs her flesh with calloused hands.   
  
Len realizes that she has fine freckles scattered across her body and a couple of larger ones on her face that had been hidden by the dirt and grime. Rinsing her mouth out with some clean water, she stands for a minute more under the water then climbs out. He looks around and sees a large towel on a warming rack. He grabs it and wraps it around her shoulders, patting them dry then stepping back to let her finish drying herself.   
  
While she is finishing up in the bathroom, he picks through the drawers in the closet, finding a pair of workout pants and a gray long sleeve undershirt. She puts them on then slips her arms into the fur coat. A loud rumble rolls through the room and she looks sheepishly at her belly.  
  
“Yeah, I think it’s time to find out what this dump has for food.”  
  
+++++  
  
Len rummages through the fridge and shelves, turning the large island in the center of the kitchen into a buffet of sweet and savory finger foods. Leaning back against a counter next to the sink, he sips a craft beer as he watches, amused, as she demolishes the spread. He takes careful mental note of which foods she avoid, which she eats, and which she takes particular delight with. **Okay, no pickled okra… eats meat… especially fond of fruit, dried and fresh, and chocolate…**  
  
He can hear the sounds of a convoy of trucks pulling up the main driveway so he leaves her to her feast while he goes to connect with the crew. He directs them to secure the perimeter then details out which rooms to completely pack out and which to simply collect any antiques or art on the walls or in display cases.   
  
“I have a guest in the kitchen that is skittish and very powerful so tell your folks to stay out of that room. I’ll be escorting her out the main door so when I do, I expect everyone to clear out between here and there.”  
  
Returning to the kitchen, he sees that she has figured out how to open the bottles with the opener and has downed a couple in his absence. She has a slightly blissful smile on her face and then she belches loudly.  
  
“I think it’s time to go.” He smiles then calls out a warning into the hall, watching as men and women in black uniforms disappear into side rooms, closing doors quietly behind them.  
  
Hugging the fur coat around her, she yawns widely and follows him outside.  
  
Since he’s pretty sure she’s never been on a bike before, he tells the crew to transport his ride back and he commandeers one of the security sedans. He opens the passenger door and helps her in.   
  
“Seatbelt.” He reaches up for the straps and slowly pulls it across her to fasten into latch, ensuring that her arms are free.   
  
He rolls down the window before closing the door, keeping her from feeling trapped beyond the loose belt. He climbs into the drivers seat, secures himself and then pulls out into the street. He keeps to the speed limit, driving leisurely two hours up 9, back to the Hall of Doom.   
  
+++++    
  
Handing the keys off to one of the guards at the vehicle bay entrance, he gently guides Giganta to the interior passageway and the elevator. When the doors close, she starts panting slightly, closing her eyes as the cab rises. He grips her hand reassuringly, reminding her that he is there with her in the small space. **Crap… she’s not going to handle being by herself for a while. Not in this place.**  
  
The doors slide open and he pulls her into the hallway. He doesn’t even bother trying to show her the quarters that he had assigned to her and just takes her straight to his own. Opening the door, he gives her a brief tour of the living area, kitchen, bathroom and his bedroom. He grabs some spare bedding and turns the couch into a makeshift bed.  
  
Turning on some low, soothing music, he shucks his parka onto the back of a chair, lays his gun and holster carefully on the table then sits down at one end of the couch. Patting the covered cushion beside him, he puts the pillow in his lap, encouraging her to curl up next to him. As she lays down, he flips the blankets down over her and slowly strokes her head until, yawning, she burrows into the pillow. Soon she is asleep.   
  
Carefully sliding out from underneath the pillow, he creeps quietly into the bathroom, takes a quick shower and climbs into his own bed. He leaves the door cracked so he can keep an ear out if she needs help. **What the hell am I doing?... It’s like she’s helpless like Lise was… scared of the man in the darkness… our own damn father.** He turns on his side, ignoring the phantom itches across his back. **… and like Mick… all rage and pain…** He snorts. **and appetite… how can someone _eat_ so much?**  
  
He slowly drifts off, dreaming of a bonfire. Lisa is laughing at Mick as he tries to teach Giganta how to roast marshmallows and they _both_ keep burning them to blackened messes. Then Mick leans in and licks an errant piece of sticky sugar off the giantess’s lips and they end up playfully wrestling until she uses her strength to pin him down to the blanket, straddling his hips and kissing and sucking on his mouth. Len tries to look away but finds that he can’t. Mick whispers something in her ear and they both look at him, matching sly grins….  
  
Loud snoring wakes him. He groans and scrubs his face with his palm then wraps his arms around himself, rocking gently. **Not sure I wanted that dream to stop… what the hell is wrong with me?... Wait… _snoring?_**  
  
He sits up and crawls to the end of his bed. On the floor at the foot of his bed, Giganta is curled up in a nest of couch cushions and blankets.


	5. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Protect the Flame

Len and Giganta enter the Rogues ready room, looking for the resident tinkerer, Blacksmith. The lab portion is nearly empty, with only a few workstations containing equipment. The storage area is full of boxes. All of the shelves are crammed with crates and pallets and open boxes litter the aisles, spilling packing materials.  
  
“I’m still unpacking everything. All these boxes look exactly alike, can’t tell which are from my lab and which are from Boyles.” Blacksmith grumbles, gesturing at the full shelves in the Rogues ready room. “Although, I did find my 3d printer and a barrel of nanofilament suspension.”  
  
They follow her over to a computer workstation with an attached coffin sized glass box. “I had been working on making a uniform that could be stored in a very small space, like a locket or other jewelry, yet could expand to full human size for wear. I had finally got the printer to be able to manufacture the base suit at the tiny scale and got swamped with other jobs.”   
  
“Anyway, I figure I can build the suit to her current size and then it will naturally expand with her as she grows.” She grins. “All she has to do is pick out the style and pattern. Personally, I’d vote for an animal skin print. Matches her wild nature. Also, something that she could easily hide under regular clothes so she’d have it available whenever she needs it. Maybe a bathing suit design?”  
  
She pats her workstation. “Figure out what you like and it should only take a few hours to print. Let’s scan your dimensions.”  
  
After running the full-body scanner over her form, the three of them sit in front of a terminal, scrolling through images. As one animal appears, Giganta begins to hoot then points at herself then back at the picture. “…T..tall…mmm… long neck… arms… legs… that is… _that!_ ”  
  
They stare at her, momentarily speechless.   
  
“…mmm… can talk… some read… not safe… umm… there.” She scrunches up her face and balls up her fists. “Makes more… in face… hard now… not used to… _speak-king._ ”  
  
Len nods firmly, “Okay. You’re safe here. Talk as much or as little as you want. In fact, if you choose to keep it between the three of us, you can learn a lot by letting others think you don’t understand, favorite tactic of an old partner of mine. People would _underestimate him_ , talk right in front of him. He would bring me the _most interesting_ pieces of information.”  
  
Blacksmith clears her throat. “If you two don’t mind, I’ll start working on integrating this skin pattern into the system. Also, I was going through the boxes, looking for one of my diagnostic tools and I found some clothes. One of the Boyles spare bedrooms had a bunch of womens clothes and it somehow got packed out. Go ahead and dig through it. Maybe something in there will give you an idea of what you’d like as a base design.”  
  
“Help… please?” Giganta looks at Len as she points at the large crate.   
  
He nods and smiles and they both begin to fish out random articles of clothing. Most of it seemed, well, inappropriate for outside clothes. **Boyle must have had some rather _spirited_ individuals staying in that room.** What remained was a couple of short dresses, a handful of blouses, and a couple tight skirts. Giganta began stroking the fabric of one of the dresses, a simple pink one with a single wide shoulder strap.  
  
“Try it on.” Then Len immediately regrets his words and she again strips naked in front of him. **I am never going to learn.**  
  
She hums absently as she pulls it over her head, tugging it down so that the skirt portion hugged her narrow hips and flared slightly over her powerful thighs. Grunting happily, she runs her hands over the fabric, smoothing the wrinkles.  
  
Len tugs at his lip. **It actually fits her. Whose clothing was this? She has really broad shoulders and narrow boyish hips… _oh_ … well, _he_ won’t be needing it anymore.**  
  
He turns to the engineer. “I think we have a winner. Makes something that will fit under this dress.”  
  
+++++  
  
Len calls members of his team into the briefing room, a couple of really skilled thieves who specialized in industrial jobs, a handful of competent security professionals, and Giganta.   
  
“So, here’s the mission. We’re breaking into Forge Industries to get these components.” He presses the console and the image of the laser assembly enlarges and four clamp-like sections highlight. "According to their system, the pallets will be located on one of the higher shelves in warehouse three.”  
  
He taps again on the screen and an overview of the warehouse appears with the location of the pallets marked by red dots on the left hand side. “Since we will be cutting the power to override the security system, the cranes that they normally use to move their inventory will no longer be functional. This is where Giganta will come into play. Once the team disables the security system and secures the perimeter, she will use her strength to open the rolling door for the truck and retrieve and store the equipment in the truck.”  
  
She grunts and nods, flexing slightly.  
  
“Meeting over, gather your gear and meet us back here in ten minutes for final check and roll out. Giganta, please stay behind.”  
  
The rest of the team leaves and the door slides shut behind them. The giantess ambles over to the lanky thief and raises an eyebrow. He has wrapped his arms around himself, his jaw tense and fingers absently digging into his muscles.  
  
“I ne…” He huffs, irritated at himself. **I hate that word… hate admitting…** “I need you to do something for me…”  
  
He takes a deep breath, deliberately relaxing his muscles, and leaning back against the table. He presses a few icons on the screen and three-dimension image of a burly, bald man floats in the air. He is dressed in a firemans turnouts, faded CCFD across the back of the shoulders. Black goggles strapped across his pronounced brow, scruff across a strong jaw, thick lips pursed, the still figure gripped a black and orange weapon in a loose fist.  
  
“This is Mick Rory… my old partner.” He sighs. “The crew that he runs with call him Heat Wave. He’s picked up a gun just like the one Blacksmith has in her inventory. It’s like my cold gun but with fire and heat.”  
  
She leans forward and ghosts a finger across the figures jawline. “Pack… mate?”  
  
“Yeah…” He whispers, staring at the hologram. “This same group has made attempts to stop us, the Legion… or individual members. The thing is, they don’t seem to be treating him right and I want to recruit him for _this_ crew. If he attempts to interfere with this operation, don’t hurt him, don’t kill him… just… just keep him safe but the mission must succeed.”  
  
“Tell me. What he like?..” Frustrated she wiggles her fingers. “What…um… makes him happy?... Dis..dis..”  
  
“Distracts him?” Len smiles and then snorts. “Funny thing, same things you get _happy_ about. Alcohol, food, stealing, burning things and sex… but don’t underestimate him. His is lazy about things that don’t interest him but very sharp on things that do. One of most capable men to have at your side when an operation goes south. Good with his hands.”  
  
“Good with hands?” She purrs. “So can do whatever I want but no hurting, yes?”  
  
His eyebrows raise then he chuckles. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Enough about him. Let’s brief you on the rest of his group. I want you to fully understand what you might encounter, so you and I can figure out how to respond to each.”


	6. When Mick First Meets His Match

Legends get a tip that the Legion of Doom, in 2016, is going to hit a warehouse owned by Forge Industries in Keystone. Forge Industries owns a multi-acre shipping complex with six large heavy steel frame warehouses. When they arrive, they see that the gate has already been breached and the security cameras and alarms were disabled. The team splits up investigate each warehouse simultaneously.  
  
*****  
  
Mick shoves open the heavy door in the north corner of the warehouse and strides in, heat gun out and braced. The building is one large open space, crane tracks crisscross the ceiling 30 feet above his head. Rows of heavy duty, multilevel shelving units run the length of space. The wide, sturdy shelves are filled with crates and plastic-wrapped pallets.    
  
He heads along the wall, checking each row for activity. He gets to the center of the warehouse and it is open thoroughfare, big enough to drive a semi-truck through. He hears activity on the far end but his view is blocked by a couple of piles of stacked crates. He turns and heads towards the sounds, using the obstructions as cover.  
  
Halfway down, there is a break in the shelves, allowing midway access to all the rows. Just as he gets a view of the far end of the warehouse and reaches up to activate his comlink, a woman emerges from the break. Micks jaw drops and his hand freezes halfway to his ear. The woman is easily 25 feet tall, barefoot and dressed in what appears to be a giraffe-skin patterned bathing suit. She is carrying a wrapped pallet in each hand.  
  
“I see London, I see France… “ He mutters loudly as she steps over him and his eyes automatically track up.  
  
She looks over her shoulder, looking down at him as she continues to move towards the far end. She flashes a wicked, knowing grin.  
  
Mission remembered, he taps his ear and whispers, “Got activity in warehouse three.”  
  
“ _What do you see?_ ”  
  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you… just get here before they finish loading the truck.”  
  
He moves after her, watching as she carefully places the pallets in the back of a semi-truck trailer. Turning away from the truck she stalks back towards Mick. As she approaches, he starts to quickly back up, trying to keep space between the approaching giant and himself, gripping his gun in both hands. At her current size, if she can get within striking distance he knows he is toast and his heat gun will have little to no effect unless he hits her face.   
  
She doesn't appear to be getting closer... but she is still walking forward. He realizes that he isn't going crazy, she is shrinking as she walks towards him, a broad grin on her face. **Okay, this is kinda of unexpected. She is deliberately giving up an overwhelming advantage.**  
  
Mick feels the low crate hit the back of his knees just before he falls backward, sprawling across the top, gun flying from his grip and sliding across the cement. When she reaches him, she is still a couple of feet taller than him. Firmly pressing a powerful hand to the center of his chest, pinning him to the crate, she climbs into his lap, straddling his hips with her legs, pinning his lower arms with her knees.   
  
He struggles slightly, realizing that she is still too strong to fight one-on-one without his gun. His eyes are locked on her, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open as he tries to figure out her angle. She is definitely working for the Legion of Doom but she isn't trying to kill him, only keep him from interfering. Maybe he can use this to his advantage, play along with whatever she has planned.  
  
Bracing herself with her hands on both sides of his head, she leans down and sniffs along his jawline, purring in his ear. **Damn, that's hot.**  She settles back on his hips and runs her hands down his chest, feeling the shape of his muscles through his shirt. His eyes close and he groans. **Okay, I can roll with this.**   
  
He hears the trucks back door slide down, the engine start and it pulls out of the warehouse.  
  
Her hand moves across his jacket pocket and a plastic bag inside crackles. Humming absently, she shifts down, shrinking a little more. She moves to sit on his upper thighs, lifting her knees, freeing his arms. She fishes out a silver pouch from the pocket and begins to investigate its contents.  
  
"So, whats your name, darlin'?" Slowly, he pushes himself up to a sitting position.  
  
"Boss calls me Giganta." She sucks on the end of a piece of dried fruit, "Silver fur says do not hurt the hot one, says you are of his pack..." She stares right into his eyes, the tip of her tongue moistening her lips, "I will _take_ your _snacks_."  
  
He leans forward and growls low in his chest, tilting his head, lips almost touching her skin, just under her left ear. If he can keep her distracted long enough, the rest of the team will show up before she can leave. **Yeah, I'm just taking one for the team. Keep telling yourself that, dumbass.** He stretches his arms out, hands skimming along the tops of her thighs, around her hips, then reaches up to cup her backside.  
  
“HEY! LET HIM GO!”  
  
Mick peers around her and rumbles, grinning, “She followed me home. Can I keep her?”  
  
White Canary shakes her head and rubs her face.   
  
*****  
  
Climbing off him, Giganta grabs a short pink dress off a nearby box and pulls it on over her suit. Mick rolls off the crate and fishes his heat gun from beneath a nearby shelving rack.  
  
"Mick, what is going on? Where is the truck?" Sara crosses her arms and glares at the stocky pyromaniac.  
  
He grins and gestures at the mystery woman, "She captured me. Truck got away."  
  
"Yeah, it looks like you were really pinned down." Ray Palmer said with disgust, "You just let yourself get distracted by a nearly naked woman and blew the operation."  
  
Heat Wave scowls at armored idiot, fingers tapping on his holstered gun. **Still thinking I'm a dumb animal, huh. I'm really getting tired of your crap.**  
  
Sauntering over to the White Canary, the woman eyes her up and down and purrs, “YOU, I like you.”  
  
Looking over at the Atom, she walks forward and pokes a finger in his chest, “You are dumb. You need a suit to make yourself a big man!” She snorts and slaps her chest, “I don’t need a suit to be a big bitch!”  
  
“You got that right…” Firestorm mutters under his breath.  
  
Mick chuckles, "She's got your number, haircut."  
  
She grins broadly at the young hero, “You are smart, little man.” She turns and walks towards the open rolling door.  
  
Citizen Steel grabs her arm, “You can’t leave. Where did they take the equipment?”  
  
Looking down at his hand then up at his face, she growls “Let go, Tin Man.”  
  
When he doesn’t, she twists out of his grip, pulls back her fist and decks him, sending him flying back into some boxes. “Try again and I stomp you flat like penny on train tracks.”  
  
The rest of the team moves to form a loose circle around her, readying weapons, preparing to subdue her. Mick just crosses his arms, he knows that they'll have a nearly impossible fight on their hands if they anger her enough. Even if Palmer matches her height, not sure they'd win without serious injury or death.  
  
Suddenly, there is a flash of lightning and a man dressed in a tight yellow leather outfit appears beside her, “Now, now, my delicate flower of femininity… we have things to do. “ Eobard Thane grins at the startled group, “Let’s leave these legendary zeros to wallow in yet another failure.”  
  
She waves the little silver bag at Mick and then the two villains disappear in a flash of lightning.  
  
Team turns and looks at Mick.  
  
He shrugs, "What?"


	7. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Party Favor

The team assembles in the Rogues ready room.   
  
Len leans forward onto the palms of his hands as he looks around the table. "We will use two independently operating teams for this mission. Team one will consist of four security guards, two for each speed boat and four Rogues. Team two will be myself, Giganta and the five-man crew on the Azimut."  
  
“Phase one consists troop movement and establishing our forward positions. We’ll be taking air transportation to an abandoned warehouse located one hour north of Miami. A limousine and three SUVs will meet us there.” Len pulls up a map of the tip of Florida, briefly points to the touchdown location then scrolls down to Miami Beach and enlarges the area. “Giganta and I will take the sedan to the hotel to establish our cover and finish preparations for our part of the operation. The remainder of team two will take one SUV and prep the yacht located at the pier north of the hotel on Collins.”  
  
“Team one will take the other two SUVs and meet up with our Legion contact on this pier here…” He points to an industrial section of waterfront. “..and they will provide two speed boats acquired from some _soon-to-be-deceased_ drug smugglers.”   
  
Captain Cold pulls up a map of the 30 acre island.  
  
“Phase two. The target facility consists of a main building with a wide glass-enclosed front entrance. There are three large glass doors set on the southern side that lead to the showroom where the device will be unveiled. There is a wide walkway around the perimeter with a large patio area next to the glass doors. A stone walkway leads from the pier to the patio.”   
  
“Team one will insert at the northern-western end of Tavernier Island, here.” Len leans forward and taps the map. “Mardon, you and Simmons will stay with the boats. Defend the position from any interference on the water.  Mark, its your job to watch his back. If he gets low on power, hit him with some lightning.”  
  
The two men nod then grin at each other. Mardon idly toys with a ball of ice floating between his palms.  
  
“There are four smaller, industrial style outbuildings north of the building, supported by a large helipad and three docks. Bivolo, you and Baez will disrupt any ground forces that respond to your landing. Remember to stay close to each other. Roy needs to move quickly from one hot spot to the next and Shawna, you need to be able to protect his six.”  
  
She smiles and taps her belt, stroking her fingers across the grip of her 9mm. Bivolo’s eyes run through a rainbow of colors, not unlike a card shark showing off his finger dexterity.  
  
“Make periodic feints towards the nearest storage building.” Len circles a large outbuilding with a fingertip. “That should pull any of the Waverider crew from the main event.”  
  
He gestures Giganta over. "Team twos job is to disrupt the oppositions communication network, isolate and divide them and to retrieve the device.“  
  
Giganta grins to herself, leaning against one of the desks near the conference table, she quietly opens a silver snack pouch and fishes out a piece of dried fruit.  
  
“Once we arrive at the private dock on the southern end of the island, the crew will remove all furniture from the deck while she and I use our credentials to gain entrance to the gala.”  
  
He looks around. “If there are no questions, get your gear and report back here in an hour.”  
  
+++++  
  
The teams arrive at the warehouse and split off into their assigned vehicles. After an hour’s drive south, the lanky thief and the giantess arrive at the hotel. The doorman opens the door and Len exits, smoothing and fastening the dark blue suit jacket as he stands. He extends his hand, takes Giganta outstretched fingers and gently helps her out. She adjusts her scarf and large sunglasses and wraps the oversized fur coat around herself. The driver tosses the keys to a parking attendant and follows discretely behind them.  
  
All eyes follow Snart as he escorts the imposing strawberry blond into the open hotel lobby, the dark blue suit cutting close to his tight form, the black shirt open to just below the collarbones. He eyes are hidden behind dark shades, lips pursed as he scans then tracks a man emerging from the office behind the desk. The older gentleman heads straight for the pair as they approach the front of the lobby, gesturing at a couple of attendants who move quickly outside to the car they arrived in.  
  
He clasps his hands together, smiling widely. “Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Snow. Your normal penthouse apartment has be prepared to your specifications. I will personally escort you.”  
  
He waves them to a bank of elevators and uses a key to unlock and summon a private car. He files in behind them and presses the button for the penthouse level. When they arrive on the top floor, he scurries out to swipe open a large pair of ornate wooden doors, swiping a fancy plastic key card across a glass panel just above one of the doorknobs. He waves them in and then attempts to follow the three of them in.  
  
“Jackson, tip then confirm the yacht rental.”  
  
The smile never reaching her eyes, the lithe black woman hands a generous stack of folding cash to the manager, plucking the key card from his fingers, and efficiently directs him out. Closing the doors in his face, she pulls out her cell phone, presses a few buttons and brings it to her ear.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Snow is requesting the 116” Azimut. He is attending the gala tonight and wishes to arrive well rested....” The guards voice trails off as she moves to the patio to give them privacy.  
  
Len helps her with her coat, draping it on the couch then leans against the armrest and smiles. “See, no one noticed you weren’t wearing shoes. Next step _does_ require shoes but I think we can find some that you’ll be comfortable in.”  
  
Reaching over, he picks up the phone next to him on the end table, “Send up a stylist and team to prepare my companion for tonight.”  
  
Taking her hand, he draws her into the bedroom to the large walk-in closet. There are two garment bags hanging on the rod and two shoe boxes on the carpeted floor beneath them. Selecting the red one, he drapes it over his arm then lays it on the bed. With long nimble fingers, he pulls the zipper down and tucks the shoulders of the bag behind the dress on the hanger inside.   
  
Hooting softly, Giganta reaches out and strokes the gold and pink rhinestone dress. Light reflects on the facets of the stones as she explores the shoulder strap and fringed hem.  She pulls it out and off the hanger, drapes it over her front and looks in the mirror.  
  
“I had it made for you. Think of it as a fancier version of your favorite dress. I wanted you to be comfortable.”   
  
Jackson knocks on the open door and leans in. “The stylist is here.”  
  
+++++  
  
As dusk falls, Len and Giganta take the limousine north from the hotel to the pier. The driver stowing a small bag with her regular dress and a few things that Len wanted to keep in the trunk.  
  
They arrive at the pier and immediately board the large boat. Giganta sniffs the air, clutching the railing with wide eyes, as it pulls out into the bay. After a few minutes, she walks around slowly, adjusting her gait to the gentle swells then smiling broadly.   
It is a short trip to island facility and the crew efficiently ties up the boat to the floating pier, dropping the walkway so that they can disembark.   
  
As they begin to leisurely walk up the paved walkway and stroll towards the main entrance, Len taps his ear. “Team one, you have 3 minutes 24 seconds to get into position.”  
  
He smiles as they approach the attendants directing the guests to the security team at the open doors. He gathers her arm onto his and gently strokes it as they approach the trio in suits. Two stand and scan the parties as they walk up and the third reviews their credentials.  
  
Since the invitations were legitimately given to Lens established cover identity, they pass through the checkpoint uneventfully. He and Giganta enter the large ballroom. Scanning the crowd, he identifies Sara Lance and Nate Heywood dressed as guests on the far side of the room. He smirks as he notices a particularly large server winding his way casually towards the bar with a nearly empty plate of finger foods.   
  
Leaning in to nuzzle the giantesses ear, “Look towards the bar. I think you’ll find a friendly face.”  
  
She tenses as she scans then tugs Len closer to the burly pyromaniac.    
  
_“Team one in position.”_ Baez chirps in his ear.  
  
“Proceed.” He mutters then taps his pocket, activating a close proximity communication jammer set to the Waveriders frequency.  
  
After a moment, the White Canary and Citizen Steel both tilt their heads and quickly exit.  
Len strolls up and leans against the bar next to the distracted Mick Rory. Mick sets his nearly empty platter on the bar, grabs a flute of champagne off a passing servers tray and stuffs a few of the stuffed shrimp puffs in his mouth.  
  
"So, who do I have to _kill_ to get a _drink_ around here?" He drawls in Micks ear.  
  
Startled, he turns and steps back, away from the man who suddenly appeared at his elbow. Leonard Snart smirks at the pyromaniac. The silver haired thief looks the part of the party attendee, dressed in a deep blue tuxedo with a long black overcoat draped over his shoulders, concealing his arms.  
  
Giganta slips her long freckled arms his Micks wide shoulders, hands stroking down the lapels of his jacket. Her warm breath tickles his ear, "Hello, hot man. Got any snacks?"


	8. Mick Rory Meets His Match - Party Favor

After determining what was stolen from Forge Industries, the Waverider science team... Stein, Palmer and Jax speculate as to what type of weapon or equipment the parts were for and what else might be needed to complete these hypothetical devices. Mick leans against the wall, listening to Stein and Palmer bicker, watching as Jax scrolls through schematics in the database. Despite being intimately familiar with the type of tech that criminals would employ and, thanks to being Chronos, having an impressive amount of knowledge of advanced weapons systems, it did not even occur to the three to ask Rory for advice. **They ain't anywhere close to figuring it out. Gunna let them spin their wheels until they pull their heads outta their asses.**  
  
He snorts, swallows a mouthful of whiskey from an open bottle dangling from his grip then saunters out of the main room. Swinging through the kitchen, he grabs a handful of snack pouches and heads to his room. Heavily dropping into the reclining chair, he toes off his boots and props his feet up on his bed. Mick scoops up a datapad from the floor and hacks his way into the surveillance system on the bridge. After listening to Stein and Palmer for a minute, repeating the same theories yet again, he mutes it.  
  
Diving into the same database that Jax was surveying, he quickly narrows the potential builds to a handful of designs for a type of vehicle mounted laser. **Huh, looking to breech multiple reinforced concrete wall sections without triggering motion sensors. They're planning an old school prison break.**  
  
Taking another healthy swig from the bottle he notices that Jax is finally in a section that contains the files but is starting to flounder under the sheer amount of data to sort. Entering a couple more of the hacking codes from his Chronos knowledge, he begins to subtly influence how the data populates in Jax's display, leading him into the folder containing the vehicle mounted laser schematics. Flicking the microphones back on, he listens as Jax excitedly pulls the two scientists to the console and shows them what he found. Confident that they figured it out, the trio begin making a list of components and fabrication supplies that the Legion would need to build a variation.  
  
Mick tosses the datapad onto the bed and proceeds to stuff himself on chips and whiskey until he was too drunk to think and falls asleep in the chair.  
  
*****  
  
Mick is startled awake by pounding on his door. It slides open and Nate leans in, throwing a garment bag across his lap, "Got a mission... be ready to go in an hour!"  
  
He lets the tuxedo bag slither to the floor and rubs his meaty hands across his scalp and down his face. Stumbling to his feet, he staggers to his private bathroom and vomits into the toilet. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he sees streaks of blood mixed in with the saliva. He leans on the sink and stares at his reflection. Bloodshot eyes stare back. He flips the image a rude gesture and strips to take a shower.  
  
*****  
  
Dressed in the fancy suit, minus the tie and nametag tucked into a pocket, Mick drops into the medbay on the way to the bridge for the mission briefing. He lays back into the chair and directs Gideon to perform a quick scan.  
  
"Mr. Rory, you have borderline alcohol poisoning and a large ulcer forming in your stomach lining. You are also deficient in multiple essential vitamins and minerals and have a case of mild dehydration. After I administer the proper medical assistance, I recommend that you continue to drink water, return to your room and rest."  
  
"You know I ain't gonna do that. Just fix me up." He grumbles, swigging some fruit-flavored fortified drink while the artificial intelligence directed the cuff to inject the medications directly into his bloodstream.  
  
*****  
  
Mick saunters into the bridge and heads towards the nearest chair.  
  
"Finally you decide to show up." Ray Palmer grouses, "NOW we can begin."  
  
He blinks and scowls at the scientist, dropping into the chair. **Screw you, haircut. You'd still be arguing about the damn device if I hadn't helped.** He closes his eyes and leans back, listening to the three of them boast about figuring out what the Legion might be building and where the rest of the components might be found in this era. One of the pieces is a one-off proof that is going to be unveiled at a posh event tonight, at a research facility on a private island in the Florida Keys.  
  
In transit to the location, the crew begins to speculate as to what the Legion was going to do with device. Mick snorts derisively as they focus on banks and museums, looking up priceless artifacts and gold bullion depositories. "They ain't going after money or expensive stuff. There are easier ways of breaking in for that kind of score."  
  
Stein calls over his shoulder, "If you have nothing to constructive to add to the conversation, please keep your opinions to yourself."  
  
Mick stares at the back of the old mans head, sucks his lower lip and scrapes his teeth across the chapped flesh.  
  
*****  
  
The camouflaged ship lands a reasonable walking distance from the main building. Nate hands out the forged credentials and event passes. Mick is volunteered into being a server, passing through the crowd with a tray of appetizers. He shrugs and heads to the kitchen entrance, fixing his tie into place. **At least I can get some free drinks out of this.** The rest of the crew fan out as guests, wandering the rest of the facility and the immediate exterior of the building.  
  
He sees Sara and Nate leave the party abruptly, hurrying out of the room, leaving him alone to keep an eye on the rich crowd. He sets his nearly empty platter on the bar, grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing servers tray and stuffing a few of the stuffed shrimp puffs in his mouth.  
  
"So, who do I have to _kill_ to get a _drink_ around here?" a very familar nasal voice drawls in his ear.  
  
Mick, startled, turns and steps back, away from the man who suddenly appeared at his elbow. Leonard Snart smirks at the pyromaniac. The silver haired thief looks the part of the party attendee, dressed in a deep blue tuxedo with a long black overcoat draped over his shoulders, concealing his arms.  
  
Long freckled arms slid over Micks shoulders, hands stroking down the lapels of his jacket. Warm breath tickles his ear, "Hello, hot man. Got any snacks?"  
  
"Now, now Giganta, don't be so familiar with the help," Len looks into Micks bloodshot eyes, disdain dripping from every syllable, "That is what they think of you isn't it... the help?"  
  
Mick chews and swallows then tries his comms.  
  
"Don't bother. I've disabled your comms and sent your teammates on a wild goose chase to the other side of the island. Why don't we take a walk?" When Rory plants his feet and doesn't move, Len briefly exposes his right hand, the cold gun powered up but held loosely in his fingers.  
  
Giganta moves to Micks side and entwines her fingers in his, drawing him after the thief. He takes in her appearance, hair is done up in a fierce faux-hawk, dripping in pink diamonds at her ears, neck and wrists. Dressed in a pink and gold rhinestone mini-dress that glitters with every step of her gladiator sandals, she settles next to him, rubbing her shoulder against his and grinning cheerfully.  
  
They leave the main hall and head to the auditorium, where the rare prototype will be unveiled later. There are no guards and the doors are not locked. After they enter and the doors swing shut behind them, Len turns and uses the cold gun to seal the entrance off with a thick layer of ice. The high ceiling is at least 30 feet above them. The only light in the room is from the moon shining through three sets of two-story-tall glass doors. They open up into a tiled courtyard. In the distance, across soft green grass, a large luxury yacht bobs near a floating dock.  
  
At the far end of the room is a raised platform. A ring of brass stanchions and velvet ropes divide the area off. Next to a podium, a large, bulky, covered object dominates the stage.  
  
Dropping his hands, Giganta skips to the center set of glass doors and pulls them open, enjoying the moist breeze that wafts in. Sauntering back to the pair, she leans on Micks shoulder with her left hand, pressing her chest against his arm and purring in his ear. She swings her foot up, unzips the sandal then drops it on the floor. The second shoe joins the first. Flexing her feet, she dances around him, removing her jewelry and placing it neatly in Lens outstretched left hand. It disappears into a pocket.  
  
"Waste not, want not....Speaking of waste..." He steps closer to Mick, eying his costume up and down,"...why are you letting them use you like this?" He scowls."I've pruned my fair share of idiots from the population and yet you've been my partner since juvie. You know how to troubleshoot and repair your heat gun, built by a gifted mechanical engineer. Not to mention being Chronos; the time masters can't _increase_ a persons intelligence, merely train those who _are_ intelligent. Despite all of this, you and I both know that they _still_ think of you as a dumb animal."  
  
Micks hands clench, his emotions beginning to overwhelm his already tenuous control. He roars at Len, " _YOU LEFT ME WITH THEM! YOU...LEFT...ME!_ " Panting, he glares at the lanky thief then hisses, jabbing a thick finger at him, "You're the one that wanted to be a hero, wanted ME to be a hero...yeah, they may not like having me around but they...they..."  
  
Len arches an eyebrow.  
  
Mick stills, rubs his flushed, sweaty face with his free hand and mutters. "Yeah, whatever..."  
  
Giganta slips between the two men. She wraps her arms around Micks thick neck, rubbing the stubble on his scalp with her long fingers, attempting to sooth him. Pressing her chest against his, she ghosts her lips across his slightly parted ones, staring into his blue eyes.  
  
A wicked grin twists Lens delicate lips, "Mick, I think she wants you to get her out of that dress."  
  
Mick blinks. **Why the hell not.** He leans forward, resting his chin on her shoulder and, with one hand reaching around to her upper back to feel for the zipper pull, he drops the other down past her waist, to settle on the gentle swell of her cheek. As he pulls the metal tab down, opening the length of the zipper, he squeezes her ass appreciatively. She moans in his ear then dances out of his grasp, slipping the dress off of her shoulder and stepping out of it. She strides forwards in her giraffe print bathing suit, draping the dress over Micks shoulder as she heads towards the display. He clutches it as it begins to slither down his chest and he turns to watch her.  
  
She grows with each step, the next stride longer than the one before. Finally stepping over the ropes, she is a little taller than the glass doors, a couple of feet between the top of her faux-hawk and the ceiling. Whisking the cover off, she tosses it into a corner and examines the exposed device. It appears to be a panel of adjustable laser emitters with an attached electrical shed and control panel. A thick cable runs from the back of the shed to an access panel in the back of the hall. She unplugs the cable, dropping the thick connector on the wood paneling, then she crouches down and lifts the base of the assembly up off of the platform.  
  
Turning carefully, she slow walks her burden to the open doors and hunches to pass out into the courtyard. Cold appears from behind him, crossing over to the doorway. He backs away slowly, moving towards the retreating giant. His coat is draped only on his left shoulder, leaving the his right arm and the cold gun free. "Mick, if you ever get tired of their behavior, tired of being ignored, bullied, undervalued for your talents and skills, come find me..."He smirks, "...and Giganta would _definitely_ appreciate your company."   
  
He steps out onto the patio then brandishes the cold gun, firing it in a steady stream, covering the entire wall of glass with a thick transparent layer of ice. Lens face appears distorted by the ice, transformed into a look of concern and worry. He turns and walks swiftly away. Mick steps forward, his nose inches from the covered glass, and watches as Giganta reaches the dock. She carefully places the device on the deck of the ship then ferries Len from the dock with the palm of her hand. When she shrinks down to a manageable size, he pulls her on board in turn. She leans over the back rail, waves and blows air kisses to Mick then turns and disappears inside. The engine roars and the ship slowly pulls out into the night.  
  
Knowing it is going to be a while before Jax and Stein can melt through the barrier, Mick sits down on the floor, resting his forearms on his knees, the rhinestones in the dress digging into the flesh of his fist. He feels something press against his hip in his pocket. Reaching in, he fishes out a small round pin with a tiny glowing red button in the center. He snorts loudly. **Didn't even feel ya put it there, Snart.** Curiosity getting the better of him, he pushes the button with the tip of his finger.  
  
"...Hope to hear from you soon, _partner_..."


	9. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Fruit Cake

Len opens the front door and walks into the safe house that he, Lisa and Giganta are sharing over the self-imposed holiday break.  
  
" _What_ is that _HORRIBLE_ stench?" Len gags slightly as he enters the kitchen and sees a cloud of smoke pouring from the oven.  
  
Swiftly moving forward with a rag over his nose and mouth, he turns the oven off and opens the door. His eyes water as he uses a pot holder to pull out the round baking pan. He strides through the living room, pushes open the patio door and drops it on the table outside. Slamming the door shut, he returns to the kitchen to turn on the fans to full power. As he tosses the potholders down on the counter, he notices an empty rum bottle. There are two more on the small kitchen island.  
  
" _LEESE!_ " He calls out loudly, "Where the _hell_ are you?"  
  
He walks back into the living room. Another bottle is lying on its side on the low table in front of the couch. There is a large bowl with a few cherries, a mango chunk, and a cranberry floating in a thin puddle of rum. Two forks drip a sticky mix of rum and fruit juice on the fine wood surface.  
  
Walking down the short carpeted hallway to the bedrooms in the back of the house, he hears giggling and hooting coming from Lisas room.  
  
Not bothering to knock, he pushes open the door. "You almost burned the house down.... _ARE YOU TWO DRUNK?_ "  
  
The giantess hoots and points at him and his sister looks up at his face, tries to hide a grin behind her hand and starts laughing. He looks over at the full-length mirror on the closet door and grimaces. The adventure with the fire left soot on the top part of his face not unlike a classic burglars half-mask.  
  
Snarling loudly, he stalks out of the room to his bathroom off of the master bedroom, tossing his coat and tie on the bed as he walks past. Rolling up his sleeves, he washes off the soot in the elegant sink, dries his face and heads back to the other bedroom.  
  
The door is closed again. He grabs the knob and finds it’s been locked from the inside. He pounds on the wood with his fist.  
  
"Open the door, Leese."  
  
"No! We haven't finished!" She calls out, her voice slightly slurred.  
  
**Enough of this crap!** He slips his lockpick kit from his pocket, kneels down and proceeds to unlock the door.  
  
Pushing the door open, he stands and walks to the bed where the two of them are laughing. He notices them trying to tug the comforter further down over a lumpy mass in the center of the bed. Stepping forward he grabs the corner of the bedding, pulling it out of their hands and flipping it open. His jaw drops as he realizes that it is covered with store bags, wrapping paper, rolls of ribbon, some clear tape and a pair of scissors.  
  
"She's never had a Christmas, Len!" Lisa frowns at him, daring him to object. "We went shopping!"  
  
"Shopping or _shopping_?" His brows furrow.  
  
"A little of both... oh, don't worry, I wasn't drunk when we did it!" She smiles wickedly then stands and tries pushing him through the open doorway. "Get out! _GET OUT!_ Gotta finish wrapping and you can't see!"  
  
"What about that _monstrosity_ in the oven?" He stands firm, leaning in against her palms.  
  
"She wanted to make a present for Mick. Now _OUT!_ "  
  
When he doesn't move, Giganta snorts and stands. She gently picks Len up under the armpits, lifting him off his feet, dropping him roughly in the hall and slamming the door in his face. A small smile curls his delicate lips as he rests his forehead on the door. **Haven't seen my sis this happy in a long time.**  
  
Turning back towards the living room, he scoops up the bowl, flatware and bottle and carries it into the kitchen. After wiping up the coffee table and clearing up all the rum bottles, he washes all of the dirty dishes the two of them generated while baking.  
  
He checks the living room and they still haven't emerged. **My turn to shop.** As he grabs his coat to head out, there is a beep from his pocket. He flips open his PDA and crooks a grin. **He kept it...looks like he's in Central City.**  
  
Instead of heading to the front door, he goes back to his sister's room, knocking politely on the door. "Hey, guess which dumbass is in town right now? Want to go play Secret Santa?"  
  
He hears Giganta trill with happiness and a "Hell, yeah!" from Lisa.   
  
"Be out in a minute. Gotta find something!" She calls.  
  
The lanky thief picks up the ruined fruitcake and walks back to the kitchen to throw it in the trash can. **Hope I can salvage this pan.** He hears the bedroom door open and the two whispering as they come into the living room.  
  
"NO!" Giganta grabs the cake pan away from Len, curling around it. "Made it for hot man!"  
  
"Don't be mean, Len!" Lisa brandishes a empty white cookie tin and a red marker, smirking. "She wants to _give it_ to him."  
  
+++++  
  
Giganta clutches the fire engine red bag to her chest as they enter the second level of mall, trying not to wrinkle the paper as she keeps scanning the crowds for a familiar face. Len is following with one eye on his PDA and one on the people around him. The screen is split between a motionless red dot on a line drawing of the mall layout and a panel flickering slowly through the malls security camera feeds.   
  
Seeing Ray Palmer and Jax Jackson walking towards them, Len pulls the ladies into the closest storefront, tucking them behind a rack of clothes.  
  
"....do you think Martin will like this?" Ray looks at cover of the art book as he walks past with Jax.  
  
"Yeah, I felt him get all wistful every time I saw him look at it......"  
  
After a minute, Len leans out and checks that they are gone. The trio continues to the center of the mall. There is a large art installation that reaches to the roof. The second floor balcony curves to form a ring, allowing people to be able to look down as see all of the piece and most of the ground floor lobby around it.  
  
Giganta points down at some overstuffed chairs and sofas and grins. The burly pyromaniac is sprawled out on a couch, leaning over an armrest to read a sign on the table set up between the chairs and the artwork. The table is covered in rolls of wrapping paper and spools of ribbon. It's manned by a cheerful bunch of volunteers directed by an short, energetic brown-haired woman.  
  
After a few minutes, Mick stands and hands over his small bag, pointing at some small gift card boxes. There is a flurry of wrapping and taping and soon a pile of gaily wrapped packages get stacked in a larger bag. He roots through his pockets, wadding up all the folding money and jams it into the slot in the donation bucket. He drops back down into his seat and rests his arms along the top of the backrest.  
  
A firm grip on Gigantas arm as she shifts and twitches with each passing crowd, Len struggles to keep her from bolting down the staircase. They watch as the rest of the Waverider crew appear and get their purchases hidden behind festive paper. Eventually they all group up and Mick stands to join them.  
  
"Stay here." He whispers in his sisters ear. "And keep her from following."  
  
She nods and wraps an arm around Gigantas waist as he slips around to the other side of the mall walkway. Carefully strolling down the stairs, Len saunters around the base of the sculpture. Mick and his group start to leave, heading towards a far set of doors leading outside.  
  
Approaching the gift wrapping station from behind, Len sits on a bench just to the right of the end of the table.  He gently puts the large gift bag down at his feet. Slowly toeing the bag forward, he lines it up next to the back leg of the last volunteers chair.  
  
"Excuse me..." He calls out as he leans forward, elbows on knees. " _Excuse me!_ I think that gentleman's group left one of their gifts behind."  
  
The coordinator and the volunteer turn and look down at the package.  
  
The lady fusses and grabs it, running after Mick. "Oh dear......"


	10. Mick Rory Meets His Match - Fruitcake

Deciding to give the team a break, celebrate the holidays and allow them to spend some time with their families, Sara directs the Waverider to return to December 2016. Before they scatter to be with loved ones, the team decides to throw a holiday bash in the Waverider kitchen.  
  
++++  
  
Mick HATES shopping. A deep, visceral if-it-could-be-strangled-then-burned-he'd-be-happy kinda hate. A childhood spent in foster home after foster home, walking through the mall at the holidays seeing happy families shopping for loved ones, getting pictures with Santa, like a knife in the gut. Plus the added joy of never learning the skill of picking gifts because, well, that skill takes practice and he didn’t exactly get much practice because he didn’t have friends or family to shop for. **Other than Len and Lisa. Shut up! Not gunna go there.**  
  
After spending most of his budget on gift cards that vaguely match the interests of his teammates, he ends up sitting on a wide couch near the rally point at the gift wrapping station. He watches the cheerful lady directing her efficient team of wrapping elves for a while. The sign on the table says that all the donations go to a shelter helping teen runaways. He decides to get each of his cards wrapped in their own fancy boxes rather than the generic envelopes that they came with. Since he had nothing else to buy, he jams the remainder, maybe a hundred plus some change, into the donation bin. **Yeah, that’s the reason…**  
  
Eventually the rest of the team shows up, appearing in ones and twos, store bags dangling from fingers. Giggling or smiling in turn, each approaches the table, glaring around to ensure that no one else is watching as the helpers pull the gifts from the bags and wrap them. When it was time to return to the ship, because Micks choice of gifts fit neatly into a single bag, he ends up carrying the excess presents that Sara and Nate bought.  
  
“Hey…HEY! SIR!” Mick feels someone pull on his sleeve. He turns and sees it’s the woman from the gift wrapping table.  
  
“Your group left one of their packages behind.” She hangs a slightly heavy fire-engine-red gift bag over his outstretched hand.  
  
“Thanks.” He rumbles. She gently pats his arm with a smile and returns to her work station.  
  
++++  
  
Sara has Gideon fabricate a small plastic tree, some cheesy miniature decorations and a small tree skirt. After the tree disappears behind the piles of stacked presents, Amara just puts the tree and skirt on top of a stack of wrapped boxes. The kitchen island is converted to a makeshift buffet table. Platters of meats, cheeses, raw vegetables, and various deep-fried mysteries stabbed with toothpicks cover most of the surface. At one end, there are some homemade desserts, including a large figgy pudding and some burnt cookies.  
  
After loading up a plate of meats and what looks like deep-fried cheese-sticks, Mick settles into a chair in the corner. Popping a chunk of ham into his mouth, he watches the rest of the team as they settle into little groups and laugh and smile and drink and eat. Nate passes around English crackers and Mick takes delight in the tiny, yet satisfying explosion when he pulls it apart. Sara somehow convinces him to wear the paper crown that falls out.  
  
Rather than passing out presents individually and watching as that person opens the gift, the group elects to pass out all the gifts at once. After the flurry of wrapping paper sailing through the air settles, Mick ends up with a tiny toy firetruck, a Flash t-shirt one size too small, a pair of foam nunchucks, a cheap ninja mask, and a novelty bottle opener in the shape of a naked woman. He grabs the last present with his name on it, the red gift bag. There are three wrapped gifts inside; the bulkiest one is exquisitely wrapped in blue paper decorated with white snowflakes, the smallest in shiny gold paper, and the densest is badly wrapped in pink princess birthday paper. The labels read “Partner” in spiky, precise black ink, “Brother” in flowery script in glitter pen, and, in blocky red print, “hot man”.  
  
He stares at the packages. **How…how did they know I was there…was going to be there…** His hand drops to his pocket, fingers tracing the small disk he can’t seem to let go of.  
  
Len gave him a six-pack of high-end lager in dark brown bottles safely chilled in a small battery-powered cooler. Lisa sent him a beautiful gold lighter in a velvet lined box. **Probably stolen.** He smiles. The final package is a plain white tin with the word “SNACKS!” written in the same red blocky print across the lid. He pops it open and it contains a lumpy brownish-blackish mass of what might generously called fruitcake on Earth-93-whatever.  He stabs a couple of fingers into tin, pinching a large chunk out and brings it to his nose. **Yeah, I think it's fruitcake..**  
  
He shoves it in his mouth and chokes on the crunchy yet slimy texture. He frantically grabs one of the beers, popping the cap with his new bottle opener, downing a third in an attempt to wash it down his throat as quickly as possible. Running his thumb around the edge of tin, he snorts then digs out another piece.  
  
Ray passes by on his way to getting another plate of vegetables, leaning over to peer into Micks lap. “What did you get there? Looks like homemade fruitcake.”  
  
“It’s horrible.” Mick grimaces around a mouthful of the half-burnt, half-mushy bitter treat. “Touch it and I will end you.”


	11. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Prison Break

Giganta stands in front of the thick stone wall, the vehicles headlights casting her long shadow on the gray surface. With a grimace she doubles her height and takes a step forward to place her hands along the line cut into its surface. She shoves her long fingers into the gap, digs her bare toes into the ground beneath the snow, and proceeds to yank the tall oval of reinforced concrete from the surrounding wall.   
  
Len watches the muscles in her back and arm bunch under the skin as she walks the thick slab back until she can roll it to the side and lean it against the remaining wall. She snorts, flicking her chin up in a cocky gesture of ownership.  Turning back to the lanky thief, she smiles at his nod of approval.  
  
As she returns to the HMMWV, he steps up into the hole and confidently swaggers into the cell block.  
  
+++++  
  
Lens eyes widen beneath his googles as Giganta joins him inside, she is wearing a pair of his pants and his spare pair of polished boots over her suit. She’s wrapped his trademark parka around herself.  
  
“What? You left in car, cold.” She mock shivers, burying her fingers in the sleeves.  
  
Shaking his head in amusement, he crooks a grin then gets back to work. Whistling and flicking his fingers to the right, he sends Deathbolt and Prism with two black clad security team members on their mission.   
  
“You have four minutes, twelve seconds to immobilize all prison employees and reach the personal effects storage room.” He drawls into the air.   
  
Checking the manifest downloaded onto his tablet, he scans for seven specific cell door numbers on the wall across from him. Ambling forward to the first door on his list, he raises his gun and freezes the lock and hinges. Giganta flexes and punches squarely in the center of each ice flower, then catches the door as it falls towards her, laying it carefully on the ground.  
  
As they pass by one of the cells labeled “Dillon, R.”, a small woman leans against the glass front, glaring at him. “Lenny, You gunna break us out too?”   
  
“What? Is Snart here…” A muffled voice calls out from the windowless cell next to hers. “Come on, man. Let us out! We promise to be good.”  
  
“What about Mirror Master and Top?” Mardon asks, a half-smile like he already knew the answer.  
  
Lens lips twist into a wicked grin. “Oh they said they were out, so they’re out.”  
  
The two of them continue to open cells until there is a small gathering of orange-suited inmates in front of the wide hole. In the meantime, Simmons and Bivolo return with the guards pushing two freight carts loaded with crates and boxes.  
  
“Pretty simple to punch out the locks like an electric cutter.” Jakes face lights up with a wide smile. “You should have seen Ray take all of those people down.”  
  
Prism nods. “Glad I’ve expanded my range to the more subtle emotions. Who knew how debilitating instantaneous severe depression could be.”  
  
_”The Waverider jumpship has arrived._ ” Peekaboo whispers in his ear. _“They’re coming in through the administration section on the other side of cellblock X.”_  
  
“Mardon, slow them down.” Len watches as Mark lopes through the opening, launching into the air.   
  
“Giganta…” Turning back, he realizes the giantess is gone.   
  
He snarls under his breath. **I _created_ a monster. Should not have leaned on her pack instincts to keep Mick safe.** He pulls down his goggles and scrubs his face, returning to its normal calm appearance.  
  
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, you will find your equipment in the labeled boxes.” He gestures to the crates on the two rolling carts. “Ensure that everything is present before we depart.”  
  
+++++  
  
After the last freed prisoner exits the block, orange-suited arm up to block the light from their face, only two people remain in walkway; Len, cold gun gripped loosely in his fist, goggles hanging around his neck and Giganta, the hood pushed back, the jacket shrugged off her shoulders and caught on her elbows.   
  
His eyes are locked on hers.   
  
“ _HOT MAN IS HERE!_ Let _me_ get _him_! _Make_ him come with us! _HE NEEDS US!_ ” She jabs her finger towards the double doors leading to cafeteria.  
  
“I get him now.” She turns to head back and Captain Cold grabs her arm.   
  
“No.” He says softly. “It has to be _his_ choice.”  
  
She sags, not fighting against him and lets him pull her gently through the hole.  
  
Len and Giganta climb into back of the SUV as the HUMVV and transport van pull out onto the driveway through a patch of clear air in the middle of an extremely strong snowstorm. The SUV driver jumps slightly as Baez appears suddenly in the passenger seat next to him. The vehicle rocks slightly as Mardon lands with a gust of air and climbs inside.  
  
The brown-haired meta grins toothily. “They aren’t taking off any time soon. Covered their ship in a thick layer of ice and snow. Plus visibility going to be shit around here for a long while.”  
  
The giantess has curled in around herself, pulling the hood down over her face, leaning against the door and staring out the window as the vehicle follows the other two. She is pointedly ignoring Snart sitting next to her.  
  
Twenty minutes later, they arrive at the abandoned Ferris Airfield where there is a light transport plane waiting to take them to New Jersey.


	12. Mick Rory Meets His Match - Prison Break

Mick continues to research where the Legion of Doom plan to use the vehicle-mounted laser system. After determining Lian Yu was probably too remote and well-guarded to be a target, he narrows the supermax facilities to Bel Rev and Iron Heights. He works with Gideon to set up target folders and alerts to notify him and the rest of crew if either of them are hit.  
  
++++  
  
Finally done with files, Mick drops the datapad on the end table, strips off his clothes and rolls under the sheet. Eyes closed, he drifts off.  
  
He feels the mattress sag as someone climbs on the bed next to him. He feels a long, lean, warm body curl up around his right side, tucking itself under his arm, head resting on his chest, short hair tickling his chin. He opens his eyes and sees a pair of bright blue eyes looking up at him.  
  
"Hello darlin'" He rumbles, reaching down to pull Giganta up further onto his chest, so she is resting her chin on crossed arms, fingers resting on his collar bones.  
  
He leans his head forward and she lifts hers up, lips slightly pursed. He kisses her, nibbling her lower lip then gently slips his tongue inside. She moans against his mouth. He slides his left hand down her impossibly, delectably long leg and wraps his fingers around her thigh, just above the knee, pulling it up to rest on his stomach, just above his hip.  
  
Pulling away from her mouth, he kisses down her neck, across her shoulder. Reaching up with his right hand, he hooks his thumb under the lone strap on her giraffe-print bathing suit, slowly pulling it down over her shoulder. His lips then begin to follow the strap down her chest.  
  
Klaxon alarms pull Mick from sleep and he sits up, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. **Damn.** Flipping the sheet off, he pulls on his pants and zips them up gently. Tossing on a shirt, pulling up his suspenders then dragging on his loosely tied boots, he heads to the library.  
  
"What’s going on?" Nate stumbles into the room behind him, hopping on one foot, trying to pull on a sneaker while leaning on a bookcase.  
  
_"Per Mr. Rory's instruction, I have been monitoring Bel Rev and Iron Heights for any anomalous activity."_ Gideons lovely voice informs the assembled team, _"As of five minutes ago, all phone activity has ceased at the Iron Heights Penitentiary. While no alarms have sounded, I have attempted to contact each and every landline installed in the facility and no one has answered."_  
  
A holographic 3-D simulation of Iron Heights hovers in the air over the research interface. As Gideon continues to speak, the projection shifts and highlights the key locations.  
  
_"The target package Mr. Rory has created details out the more significant security details and what equipment is needed to circumvent them. There is a high probability that the Legion of Doom is working to free prisoners from one or both of the meta-human wings located on the north side of complex."_  
  
The team looks at Mick, confusion on their faces.   
  
"I _TOLD_ you that they weren't gunna hit a museum or bank," He rumbles, "You ain't thinking like criminals, ain't looking at the big picture. They're building their mob outta the most effective, combat-ready meta-human criminals they can get their hands on. They're thinking long-term. That's Snarts specialty, well, and recruiting the exact folks they need."  
  
Sara nods, "Okay, we've got to keep the interference to the timeline to a minimum, so we'll just use the jump ship and land on the far side of the facility." She points to an open exercise field near a secondary vehicle entrance.  
  
"Mick, you work with Gideon to get the appropriate electronic overrides fabricated so we don't trigger any additional alarms when we enter the facility here." She points to a loading dock used to bring in meta-human convicts, near the vehicle garage. "We lift off in 10. Gideon jump us back so that we arrive at facility just after the phones go silent. Any earlier and we won't know where they are at, any later and they might get away."  
  
+++++  
  
"Mick, take point and check on any other prison personnel in the next section." Sara turns to Stein and Palmer, "You two get an electronic copy of the prison records so we can figure out who they're after."  
  
As Mick slams opens the swinging doors leading from the administration area to the intake section, he sees a familiar figure swiftly walking towards the end of the corridor. A puffy blue parka, hood up, skinny black legs and polished combat boots turns left at the corner, disappearing from view. **Snart.** He runs after him, through the series of open gates, their locks already punched and doors swung wide. He hits the t-intersection, signs says right to infirmary and left to cellblock X.  
  
Tapping his ear, “On Snarts tail, he’s headed to the cellblocks.”  
  
“ _Wait for backup!_ ”  
  
He snorts and keeps going. **It’s just Len.** As he approaches the wing, he hears raised voices from the inmates.  
  
“Hey pretty, you cold?...Open the door and I’ll warm you right up.” A gravelly voice catcalls from a cell.  
  
A higher pitched whine calls out,”Mmm those long legs! Sweet cheeks, I wanna lick all over ‘em!”  
  
Mick grins. **Bet Len is PISSED. Always HATED when people did that.** Then he frowns, shaking his head. **Considering what kinda attention he got, even in juvie…** Suddenly, he felt an upwelling of anger, a deep protectiveness that makes him grip the heat gun with white knuckles, a wordless growl deep in his throat. **I’m gunna burn ‘em all.**  
  
As he enters the block, he glares at the men clutching at the air through the bars and whistling suggestively. “ _SHUT THE HELL UP!_ ” He roars, fanning a swath of flame along the front of the row of cells.  
  
The inmates hastily retreat to the back wall, falling silent instantly. He continues through the next compromised door and sees Snart enter a set of swinging double doors on the right side of the room. He finds himself in the cafeteria, crossing quickly between two rows of tables. Shoving open the doors, he strides aggressively into the kitchen area, bringing up the heat gun to cover the room.  
  
He sees Len sitting on the end of a prep table, his back to the door, a package of generic chocolate chip cookies on his left side and a large tub of peanut butter on his right. Confused, he watches a gloved hand snag a cookie from the package then, with the other, use a spatula to smear a healthy dollop of creamy peanut butter on it.  
  
“Snart!” He holsters the heat gun, steps to the end of the table and grabs the parkas wide lapels in his fists, yanking the lean figure up and pulling him forward.  
  
“What the…” His brows furrow, mouth gapes open. It isn’t Leonard Snart. Blue eyes peer up at him over a wide grin but the face is rounder, with a smattering of freckles.  
  
“Hello, hot man!” Giganta purrs, lifting her hand gloved hand up, snack gripped in her fingers, “Cookie?”  
  
A double-horn sounds and an automated message calls out, _“Opening cell block X doors, opening cell block X doors.”_  
  
Mick realizes that he is cut off from the rest of the team. All of the meta-human prisoners he just threatened are now roaming free. **This is gunna get fun real fast.**  
  
Giganta surges up, roughly shoving him back against the door of a walk-in freezer. She breaks his grip on the jacket, then crowds into his space, pinning him there. He attempts to push back, struggling against her strength but she keeps him pressed against the metal, the cold seeping through his jacket and shirt.  
  
She leans into his chest, the faint smell of lavender from the jacket sleeves and the strong odor of peanut butter from her lips both tickle his nose. “You have choice now… stay and fight, go out back door of kitchen, back to them, or….”  
  
Sniffing along his jawline, she licks his earlobe then nibbles delicately. He groans, shifting slightly.  
  
“Follow me to other cells…”she whispers in his ear, “Join me and boss and others…”  
  
Resting her lips against his neck for a moment, the warm breath is a sharp contrast to the chill of the door. She steps back, turns on her heels, grabs a cookie from the package and saunters out of the kitchen. He stands there for a minute, shaking his head then wipes his hand down his face.  
  
Suddenly remembering the freed prisoners, he runs out of the kitchen to the doors leading to cell block X. He can see them approaching through the tiny reinforced glass windows set in the doors. Pulling his heat gun, he dials the stream down until it is just hot enough to only partially melt the metal doors and runs the flames down the seam in the center then along where the doors meet the jamb.  
  
Backing away from sealed doors, he sits down heavily on one of the table benches. He stares at the kitchen door and then the doors leading to cell block Y. **What am I doing? If I go after her… am I gunna go in gun blazing, probably die without backup, or…or…** He sighs.  
  
He taps his ear, “Doors at the far end of cell block X are sealed, Gotta go around to the kitchen loading dock to get to other cell block.”  
  
“ _Roger!_  
  
He stands and walks slowly to the cell block Y’s doors, laying his hands gently on the metal surface. He leans his forehead against the upper rim of one of the reinforced windows and peers through. There is a gaping hole in the wall opposite the barred cells. Half of the cells are ripped open, probably by Giganta, and the rest have screaming, yelling, pleading inmates waving their hands, trying to get attention, begging to get set free.   
  
After the last freed prisoner exits the block, orange-suited arm up to block the light from their face, only two people remain in walkway; a tall, lanky man with frost white and gray hair, cold gun gripped loosely in his fist, goggles hanging around his neck and Giganta, the hood pushed back, the jacket shrugged off her shoulders and caught on her elbows. Len appears to be arguing with Giganta, eyes locked on hers. She is pointing back towards the cafeteria, jabbing her finger repeatedly at where Mick stands. She makes a move as if to turn towards him and Captain Cold grabs her arm, “No.” clearly on his lips. She sags, not fighting against him and lets him pull her gently through the hole. Their shadows shorten and disappear.  
  
**Why…why did I just stand there? I could’ve delayed them. Could’ve… You KNOW why… you know you would’ve gone with them.** He staggers back from the doors, panting and half-curled over, a sudden, punishing headache nearly blinding him.  Mick hears voices coming from the kitchen, turns and sees the Waverider team. Bile rises in his throat and he vomits up whatever was left of his breakfast. Darkness fills his vision and he drops to the cool cement floor, unconscious.


	13. Mick Rory Meets His Match - Served

The team returns to the Waverider and Gideon is repairing Mick in the infirmary  
  
++++  
  
The team is gathered around Mick in the infirmary, either sitting on any level surface or leaning against the walls, giving the bed a wide berth. Only Sara stands next to the reclined chair, gaze divided between the motionless form and the display as Gideon explains his condition.  
  
“According to Time Master protocols, all field agents, including hunters, are implanted with a dormant script designed to reawaken absolute loyalty to the Time Masters and the preservation of the timeline in case the individual was either suborned or went under deep cover. I have repaired the aneurysm and all physical deterioration caused by the stress of the conflict between his programming and his natural loyalties.” Gideon reports.  
  
“So, Gideon, you are saying that Mick had a blood vessel burst in his brain because the Time Masters put a script in his head that reactivated his loyalty to them?” Sara strokes Micks forehead and rests her other hand on his shoulder. “Since they’re dead and he’s been working with us, this must have set up some sort of conflict in his head and his brain and body could only handle it for so long before failing.”  
  
“Precisely. The mental stress caused by this conflict was masked by his grief over the loss of his friend and partner, Mr. Snart. The physical impact was hidden by his unique coping mechanisms involving excess food and drink.” The AI continues, “Now that the script has been activated, I identified the portion of the brain affected and effectively de-programmed him. This should allow him to function without causing any additional mental or physical distress. Mr. Rory needs undisturbed rest. If you need further information, I invite you to retire to the bridge and I will continue to answer any additional questions.”  
  
++++  
  
**Where…what…** Mick struggles to open his eyes, his arms and legs feel like mush, mouth dry. He licks his chapped lips and takes a deep breath, attempting to clear the grogginess.  
  
“You are in the infirmary. You had a medical emergency and needed assistance.”  
  
After Gideon finishes telling Mick the same information she provided the rest of the team, the burly pyromaniac sighs, shifting under the thin blanket. “So, when did this thing in my head activate?”  
  
“According to all recorded information related to your self-soothing behaviors and monitored instances of physical distress, I estimate that the script activated just after the team finished resolving the Vandal Savage issue.”  
  
Mick grunts, then rubs his scalp. **Huh, right about when we all decided to help keep the timeline safe ourselves. I guess that explains my seeing things, seeing Snart. My brain trying to deal with it.**  
  
“How much longer do I gotta stay in here?” He grumbles, “I’m getting real bored, real fast.”  
  
“So long as you continue to wear the monitor bracelet, I can release you to return to your quarters but advise against all vigorous activity until I am satisfied that your recovery is complete. Please stop in the galley on your way to your room. I will be making a fortified shake for you to consume to boost the healing process. ”  
  
++++  
  
Dropping into a chair near his bed, he leans back and downs a mouthful of the banana-flavored shake Gideon forced on him. Suddenly tired, he chugs the vile concoction knowing that if he didn’t finish it, the AI would nag him unceasingly. Getting up, he pulls his suspenders off his shoulders, letting them hang by his knees as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it in the general direction of the laundry basket in the corner. Unbuttoning his pants, he shoves them down then toes off his shoes and socks.  
  
Laying down on his bunk, the cool sheet laying on his bare skin, his mind drifts to the dream he had the morning of the Iron Heights mission. He smiles, recalling the warmth and eagerness of the dream-Giganta and his hand begins to skim down his chest, moving under the light cover. **Bet she’s just like that. I wonder where she is right now? Man…I wish I could meet up with her and…** He freezes, eyes snap open and his head turns to stare at the tool box resting on the little table. He had tossed the disk in there for safe keeping after he figured that Snart had used it to track him to the mall at Christmas.  
  
He throws the cover off and sits on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the scarred up metal tool box, hands flexing absently on the mattress. **I shouldn’t be even thinking this…** He stands abruptly, surging towards the table, the metal lid cool on the flesh of his palms. **Feels like that freezer door**. Mick shivers, recalling not just the cold from the door against his back but the _very personal attention_ that the tall Legion member gave his earlobe and neck. He pulls out all of the specialized equipment that he fabricated to assist in repairing his heat gun, haphazardly scattering them on the table, some falling to the floor in his haste. His fingers close on the small black and gold vanity box, pulling it out. The case used to contain a gold lighter, a Christmas present from Lisa. He recalls the other gifts in the red bag.   **Man, that fruitcake was bad. I gotta show that woman what real cooking is. Tempt her with something better than dehydrated fruit.** Grinning fondly, he rubs his fingers on the faux snakeskin texture. **What the hell am I doing?** He drops the case like it burns his skin, backing away.  
  
He retreats to the bed, crawls back into it and wraps the sheet around himself, turning on his side so his back was to the table. Closing his eyes, he falls into a deep, medicated sleep, unaware that Gideon had laced the drink with a sedative.  
  
++++  
  
Wordless growls and guttural screaming wakes him. He struggles to his feet and, after tossing on a pair of sweatpants, pads to the door and opens it. Stunned, he rocks back on his heels as he takes in what was happening in the corridor outside his room. Palmer, Nate, Jax and Sara are fighting to keep hold of a flailing, squirming, chained woman dressed in a ragged pink dress. They slowly drag her towards one of the cargo bays that had been converted to a makeshift containment area. Manacles and chains bind her wrists and ankles and there is a wide electronic collar locked around her neck. **Giganta…they caught her…how…how?**  
  
Their eyes meet and she pleads with him silently, fear and desperation visible for a moment on her face before it twists back into unadulterated and uncontrollable rage. Following them, Stein is escorting a second prisoner. His hand is gently gripping the elbow of a tall, thin man dressed in a puffy blue parka, the fur-trimmed hood lying flat against his back. As they both walk past Mick, Leonard Snart, his long hands bound together at the wrist, turns his head and sneers at him, disdain twisting his delicate features as he looks Mick up and down and appears to find his presence loathsome.  
  
Staggering back into his quarters, he falls heavily into the chair next to his work table. **How…did…** He grips the table edge, attempting to slow his racing heart and stares blankly at its surface. Slowly his eyes focus on the jewelry box, its lid open and the velvet cushion empty.  
  
“THOSE BASTARDS!” Growling, he grabs the case, snapping it shut as he stalks after the rest of team.  
  
The door slides open and the first thing he sees is Snart and the giantess, locked in the same glass jail that he had been in when he was Chronos. The team is loosely grouped near the closed door to the cell.  
  
Len is down on one knee, Giganta’s limp body leaning against his thigh, his long fingers gripping her chin lightly. “What did you give her?” He snarls, glaring at Stein.  
  
The professor adjusts his glasses nervously, the hypodermic needle clenched in a sweaty palm, “A mild sedative… her condition…”  
  
Lens angular face turns towards him, “Well, if it isn’t the Judas. Come to gloat?”  
  
“I didn’t betray you!” He protests.  
  
“ _Mick_ , it was _your_ beacon that called us. We were waiting to bring you home, to where you belong and we found an ambush instead, so yes, you _are_ to blame for this.” He hisses, “I’m done with you. _Enjoy your victory!_ ”  
  
Giganta begins to convulse, foam pouring from her lips. Len slides down to sit on the cold metal, struggling to turn her on her side, ignoring the vomit spattering his jacket and pants.  
  
“DO SOMETHING! SHES DYING!” The thief pleads, tears forming.  
  
The team rushes in around the twitching woman. Nate slips into his metal form, picks up Snart by his lapels and pins his struggling body against the far wall.  
  
Mick trembles, heart pounding, fear gripping him, and drops to his knees, the box slipping out of his shaking hand.  
  
++++  
  
“ _Mr. Rory! Wake up, Mr. Rory!_ ” Gideons loud voice calls out, “ _If you do not respond I will summon the rest of the team to assist you._ ”  
  
Sucking in a panicked breath, Mick croaks out, ”No.. no, I’m fine… I’m fine!”  
  
He pulls the sweat drenched sheet off, swearing loudly as it clings damply to his legs. Rubbing his hands vigorously over his face, he focuses on the feel of callused flesh scraping his cheeks. Dropping his hands, he looks over at the work table. The small box is still there, exactly where he left it, the lid closed. He stands and slowly walks across the room, hands twitching nervously. Picking up case, he flips the lip up. He sucks his lower lip, chewing on it absently as he stares at small round metal disk, the little LED dark. Caressing its surface with the tip of his finger, his heart rate slows and his breath evens out.


	14. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Served

As soon as the teams hit the Hall of Doom, Giganta disappears into the confusion of getting the new members settled into their quarters.  
  
Len finishes showing the new Legion members to their quarters, leaving Shade to provide the tour once they are settled in. Looking around, he realizes that Giganta disappeared from the group once they pulled into vehicle bay. He checks his quarters and she isn’t there.  
  
He taps his ear. “Blacksmith, is Giganta in the ready room?”  
  
_”Standby…no, she is not here. Do you want me to scan HQ for her signature?_ ”  
  
“Yes.” He purses his lips, brows furrowing.  
  
_“She is not located inside HQ. Security logs show her departing the vehicle bay via the open ramp just after you arrived. External cameras show her walking southeast into the swamp.”_  
  
**Where the hell is she?** He crosses his arms and begins to pace between his couch and kitchen island. “What is located within reasonable walking distance along that azimuth?”  
  
_”There is an abandoned mill located 8 clicks in that direction. There is an unimproved service road off the main route that leads directly there. I’ll send you directions.”_   
  
Checking the route, he returns to the vehicle bay and grabs his bike and helmet. A mile down, he stops to check his GPS. **Turnoff should be right here… there it is.** He spots a faint change in the dense vegetation indicating that solid ground continues from the edge of the embankment.   
  
Pushing his way through, the bushes part easily and he has a clear view of a single-lane dirt road leading off into the distance. Going slow, avoiding the potholes and overgrown bushes, he reaches the decaying gates of a small industrial park. He pulls up in front of the main building, one of the few intact structures, parks his bike and tosses the helmet on the seat.  
  
**Front door looks breached… bet she is there.** He saunters up into the shadowed doorway, running his hand over the twisted and crushed handle and lock.  
  
There is some light streaming through the broken and boarded windows lining the walls of the processing floor. Areas in between the large machines and the rafters above are in shadow.  
  
He sees boot prints and large footprints in the thick dust. The boot prints lead to the base of a particularly tall piece of equipment. There is a pair of black pants, wet to mid-thigh, and a pair of very muddy combat boots lying in a haphazard pile just in front of the control panel.  
  
“Go away.” Giganta calls from somewhere up in the shadows.  
  
“I was just looking for you because I wanted my parka back.” He crooks a grin up a shadow with a distinctive profile.  
  
“Fine.” Without looking at him, she strips off the jacket and throws it at him, not looking to see if he caught it or not.  
  
Giving himself time to figure out what to say next, he shrugs the jacket on.  
  
_“GET OUT OF MY HOME!”_ A loud roar shakes the structure.  
  
Len turns and freezes as he sees a huge pale man in ragged clothes and no shoes, hands curled into giant fists, standing in the open doorway between him and his bike. **I guess those footprints were his….** Dropping the clothes, the lanky thief slowly skims his hand down until he can grip the handle of his cold gun.  
  
Before he can pull it free, the man howls in anger and charges straight at him. There is an answering roar from above and the giantess, doubled in size, leaps from her perch in the rafters and lands squarely on his shoulders, driving him to his hands and knees.  
  
_“NO HURT BOSS!”_ She screams in his ear, raising both fists and slamming them down in the center of the mans spine.  
  
He curls under and rolls, shrugging her off. She leaps clear, slams her palms on the wooden floor, and bares her teeth at him, then charges back in. He stands and catches her shoulder in his belly.  
  
Len backs away quickly, pulling the cold gun, skirting the edge of the violent confrontation, attempting to get to the door. He keeps the barrel pointed towards the giants, waiting for a clear shot as he sidesteps carefully.  
  
The white-haired monstrosity wraps his arm around her neck, leaning his chest over her back, trapping her head against his side. She drops down to one knee, pulling herself in front of him then arches up, using the back of her head to shove his shoulder forward and her chest to push his arm back, breaking the grip between his hands. Curling her arm around the back of his head, she falls back, driving him face first into the floor.  
  
Panting, she pulls away from him, hoots and slaps her chest. Dazed, he pushes up to his hands and knees, shaking his head. Seeing an opening, Snart shoots, coating him in a thick layer of ice.  
  
“I think it’s time to go.” He keeps his gun trained on the immobilized figure.  
  
She snarls and takes a step forward.  
  
_”Now!”_ He growls.  
  
Giving her opponent a challenging flick of her chin, she follows Len out, shrinking as she exits.  
  
+++++  
  
They return to HQ and she follows him back to his quarters  
  
“You smart.” She taps her head. “But you stupid!”   
  
She snorts at him as the door closes behind him. “Go outside, no strong arm at side. Go unknown place, get challenged.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have _had to_ if I hadn’t had to go _find_ my strong arm.” He drawls, slipping his coat off and laying it on the back of a chair.  
  
He drops down onto the couch, folding his arms and legs, face set in a mild frown. She huffs then crawls onto the cushion next to him, butting her head against his arm until he raises it and she curls under it, side of her face resting on his thigh.  
  
“You know you got two arms, right?” She mumbles.  
  
Lens face softens as he begins to gently stroke her hair.  
  
“You know you stink.” He whispers as he smiles.  
  
+++++  
  
After shoving her into the shower, the two of them meet up with one of the newly released prisoners in the ready room.   
  
As they enter, Len eyes track to Blacksmith and a tall broad-shouldered black man leaning over one of the work benches. He’s dressed in combat boots, green cargo pants, with a blue combat vest over a black t-shirt emblazoned with a white skull.  
  
“So, if I adjust the molecular structure here and here…” Her fingers delicately touch the bent metal lying on the surface. “I can improve the energy absorption and redirect accuracy by 23%. Might be able to add 10-15 feet to the range as well.”  
  
He grins toothily. “Please and thank you. Ain’t you a doll.”  
  
She glances over at Len and Giganta and waves him off with a small grin. “Go handle your business.”  
  
As he turns, his eyes fall on the giantess and his smile widens. Striding forward, he gently captures Gigantas hand and bows over it. “  
  
“Malcolm ‘Crowbar’ Tandy and I am _very_ happy to make your re-acquaintance. Thank you for setting me and my crew free.” He nods towards Len as he straightens, still lightly gripping her hand. “Love the place you got here, but I think you didn’t just invite me outta the kindness in your cold heart.”  
  
Her face blank, body rigid, she looks at Len to as if to ask him explain what this mans behavior means. Snart looks pointedly at Crowbars hand then stares straight into his eyes, eyebrow raised.  
  
“My bad! Excuse my manners.” He says cheekily, in a tone that suggests the exact opposite, and lets go of her hand. “So what can I do you for you, boss.”  
  
Giganta folds her arms across her chest then wanders over to Blacksmiths work space.  
  
Lens eyes follow her briefly then focus back on the criminal in front of him. “While your prowess with your weapon is well-known, I’m more interested the company you kept before your unfortunate incarceration.”


	15. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Button, Button

Crowbar arranges a meet in Detroit, at the Waterman Substation, between Len and Tony “The Badge” Taddeucci, the street boss of the local mob. They arrive early and park their reinforced SUV near, but not under, the lone functional area light.  The street boss arrives in a three car convoy, shiny black Escalades with tinted windows.  
  
Large men in suits exit the two escort vehicles first, securing the perimeter and giving Snart and Giganta a cursory look. Snart lifts his jacket, exposing his cold gun. Two remain to watch them, guns drawn but at their sides, while a third goes to the last vehicle. He opens the door and a portly graying man in an expensive suit climbs out, a smile on his lips that is not reflected in the brown eyes behind gold wire-framed glasses.   
  
“Welcome to Detroit, Mr. Snart.” He grunts. “Mr. Tandy says that you did him and his crew a solid favor. He and his _freaks_ have been very useful to my organization.”  
  
Giganta frowns and snorts at the disdain in his voice. Len eyes her over his shoulder, locking eyes, slightly shakes his head.   
  
“Mr. Taddeucci, _thank you_ for agreeing to this meeting.” Snart smiles coldly. “Honestly, it’s just a simple request that requires no effort at all on your part.”  
  
“Go on.” His eyes wander to the giantess, slowly looking her up and down.  
  
Lens eye twitches slightly as he tracks the attention focused on his bodyguard. “My _organization_ is looking for permission to transport goods through your fair city. We are willing to pay handsomely in cash, goods and services.”  
  
“I gotta know.” The mobster hooks a thumb at Giganta. “She one of them freaks? I mean, she ain’t armed but she’s your bodyguard.”  
  
He steps forward, openly staring at the tall strawberry blond. “You said goods and services… does that include her?”  
  
She crosses her arms and ignores the street boss, preferring to grin toothily at the nearest mob soldier. He shifts slightly under the predatory gaze.  
  
Len opens his mouth to rebuke and refocus the street boss.  
  
There is a screech of tires and three purple SUVs, headlights off, careen into the substation parking lot. Their convoy slows to a crawl, turning so that the passenger side of their vehicles are facing the gathering. Windows at half-mast, muzzles of high-velocity, semi-automatics poke out of the dark cabs.  
  
Len snarls and darts behind Giganta as she grabs the door of their reinforced vehicle, rips it off the hinges and crouches down to protect the two of them. There is a pop of gunfire, followed by a hail of bullets. The suits scatter, looking for cover themselves and attempt to return fire.  
  
The SUVs split into two groups and circle around the trapped people, firing from different angles, attempting to find weak spots in their cover. Pressing his back against their car, Len tries to find a clear shot to disable one of the attackers transports.  
  
Between two of the sleek Escalades, one of the purple SUVs, a Chevy Tahoe, slows as it passes the gap, aiming straight through. The lanky thief grins as he gets off a shot immobilizing the engine and right front tire as the attackers in the vehicle unload with a burst.   
  
He gasps as pain blossoms along his right side, from his shoulder, stomach and thigh, and he falls to one knee, leaning against the side of a car. Giganta looks down, watching as his hand pats his black shirt and comes away bloody. She carefully leans the door against him, effectively sandwiching him between two pieces of solid cover, then rises up, fists clenched and roars.   
  
Roughly stripping off her pink dress, she drops it next to him. **Forgive me.** He grabs her dress and presses it against the wound in his stomach.  
  
“Clear a path!” He shouts.  
  
She growls in response and charges between the Escalades, doubling in size and dropping her shoulder so it slams into the lower part of front passenger door of the frozen SUV. The Chevy rocks on its wheels, the ice cracking, and begins to tilt over, landing with a loud crunch on its side.  
  
Grabbing the front end, she grunts as she lifts it over her head then slams it roof down onto one of the black Cadillacs next to her, crushing the two together. He staggers forward, raises his gun and ices the light pole, destroying the bulb and plunging the area into darkness.   
  
One of the Escalades starts up and attempts to pull away from the conflict, a male figure leaning low as he steers towards the entrance. The two purple Ford Expeditions pull up along him and pump bullets into the cabin. It slows and stops, the driver slumped over the steering wheel.   
  
While the attackers are distracted, the two begin to run towards a patch of bushes alongside the parking lot, away from the entrance to the parking area.   
  
Giganta looks over her shoulder and growls. “Go.”  
  
She grabs him gently and tosses him fifteen feet, over a low wall and into the bushes. His parka insulates him from the piercing branches that cushion his landing. He slithers down until his feet hit the dirt underneath and he claws a branch back to look for her. One of the attackers had spotted the giantess and was moving to intercept them. She is running right at it and, at the last minute, jumps up, onto its hood.   
  
She punches through the windshield and pulls the driver half-through, slamming her free fist repeatedly into his head. The vehicle revs up, steering erratically, until it collides with one of the other stalled vehicles, throwing her forward, her head hitting the top edge of the frame.  
  
Dazed, she staggers back over the hood of the black SUV. There is a flicker of flame licking up from the purple SUV and two people attempt to crawl out. The cargo area begins to light up from within. Everything goes white and a noise louder than creation itself wells up and he is blown back down behind the low wall.


	16. Len Snarts Giant Problem - The Detroit Job

Len wakes with a start, head pounding. **What… where am I?** Then it hits him, Giganta, the explosion. He flips over onto his hands and knees then pushes himself up, grabbing the edge of the low wall to pull himself to his feet.  
  
Leaning heavily on concrete barrier, he forces his eyes to focus, ignoring the ringing in his ears. The scene is like something out of an action flick. There are vehicles on their sides or crushed, a couple are on fire. He squints at a couple of bodies on the asphalt not far from him. **No… not her.**. He sighs, reluctant to move but he’s got to find his bodyguard. Not wanting to chance making his wounds worse by climbing, he looks for a break in the wall. The ringing in his ears gets louder. **Wait… that’s not ringing… _Damn! Sirens!_... you’d better be alive so I can break you out and kick your ass.**  
  
Straightening, he grimaces and presses her dress again his stomach and shrugs his jacket over his hand. Moving as normal as possible, he begins to walk along the side of the building that’s opposite of the road leading to the parking lot. Suddenly the sprinklers turn on and he barely avoids a concentrated spray across his midsection. **Just what I need.** He huffs. Just before he hits West Jefferson Avenue, he leans against the back of a tree. Watching the police cars shoot past, the noise from their sirens piercing his skull, he waits until it's clear before darting quickly across traffic.  
  
Sticking to darkened side streets, he makes it about five blocks when he realizes he can’t go any further without taking proper care of his wounds. There is a large warehouse on his left, well-maintained but minimal security. At most, it appears that there is a guard shack at the entrance to the employee parking lot. Avoiding the checkpoint, he skirts around the building until he finds the employee entrance, located at the top of some stairs, between two large rolling doors. He kneels down, pulling his lock pick set out of his inner pocket. **Mick laughs at me for carrying these damn things everywhere I go... wish he could see this... _thing_... I've gotten myself into.** The tumblers clicks, unlocking the door. Jamming a foil wrapper from a piece of chewing gum between the alarm leads on the door, he pulls it open and staggers in.  
  
**Now where the hell are they going to keep their medical kit... probably near the break area.** He folds his arms around himself, keeping as much pressure as possible on his abdomen.  
  
A hallway leads from the open warehouse layout into a vaguely administrative looking area. After glancing through a couple of doorways, he finds a large dining area with a kitchenette along one wall. A bay of floor-to-ceiling windows run along far wall, the bright neon glow from a bars signage outside faintly illuminates the room. He sees a large white box hanging on the wall near the sink, the bright red cross clearly visible in the half-light.  
  
Leaning on the sink, he reaches up a pulls it off the hooks on the wall. Sliding clumsily to the floor, the box slips out off his grip and lands a few feet away. Sitting, he stretches out an arm and dragged the metal box back to him. He unlatches it and flips the lid up. **Screw my luck...** The container is half-filled with small adhesive bandages and individual packages of aspirin and antibiotic cream. Snarling with frustration, he flips the open container, scattering the contents across the floor.  
  
He claws open the cabinet under the sink. There is a small tool box tucked in with a roll of paper towels and a variety of cleaning supplies. He pulls out the tool box and the roll. Opening the box, he sees a roll of duct tape. **_Finally_...something I can use.**  
  
He shrugs off his parka and pulls his shirt up, examining his wounds. He bites his lip, choking back winces of pain, leaning on the stoic facade he learned to get him through shit he couldn't control, through pain he couldn't... wouldn't avoid. Ripping off long strips of gray tape, he covers the edges of the clean pads of folded towels, laying them over the holes in his shoulder and belly, smoothing the adhesive against his skin. He wraps a couple of winds around his pant leg, pressing the paper towels firmly to the wound in his thigh.  
  
**Okay, time to go...** He tugs his shirt back down and pulls on his jacket.  
  
He grips the edge of the nearest table, pushing up, attempting to get to his feet. Boots slick with mud, Lens legs shoot out from underneath him and he falls forward. He attempts to break his fall using his forearms. The impact jarred the wound in his shoulder, causing a white hot flash of pain. A soft whimper escapes his lips and he tenses, expecting a blow that will never come again. Pressing his hot forehead against cold floor, he sucks in a breath.  
  
**Get a hold of yourself!... _GET UP! DON'T BE WEAK!_**  
  
He blinks back the tears forming at the edge of his vision. **I can't.**   
  
**I... I need help...** He looks at his hands splayed out in front of him on the floor, both supporting him, one weak from the damage to his shoulder then other still strong, strong enough to compensate for the other. **Damn that woman...**  
  
He digs in his pocket, pulling out a small silver disk. His thumb hovers over the small red button. He huffs and presses it down firmly.  
  
Len breaths a low raspy whisper into the disk. ”Mick…”  
  
Shifting back to sit up, he leans against the cabinets. Pain radiates from his midsection, it overwhelms his ability to ignore and he curls over, wrapping his arm around himself.  
  
He moans. “I need you…Mick…”  
  
_“Len! Where you at?”_ Micks deep voice rumbles from his hand.  
  
Len sags, a sense of relief washing over him. **He's still talking to me... he's still got my back.**  
  
He coughs and it bunches his stomach muscles, setting off a sharp stab of pain.  
  
Len chokes back a whimper. “Detroit… deal went south, think someone tipped off the rival organization… barely escaped…”  
  
_“Keep talking, Len. I’m coming.”_ He can hear Mick moving around, the sound of a zipper being pulled closed and a grunt as he shoulders a bag.  
  
“Mick… Giganta… she was with me. When gunfight started…started throwing cars” Len pants, attempts to muffle a keen. “…not sure where she is…”  
  
“I’m…I’m in a warehouse… not sure where.” He glances through the large windows lining one wall. “I can see a bar on the corner, uh, Stopwatch… what a stupid name.”  
  
_“You gunna make it till I get there? Gunna be real pissed if I get there and you’re dead.”_  
  
“Yeah…” He rubs his face with a dirty hand, trying to keep his voice level.  
  
_”I got transpo… you ain’t going believe this thing.”_ Sounds of Mick settling into a seat  
  
“Seatbelt, Mick..” Len gently rebukes, a faint smile on his lips.  
  
_“Yeah, yeah, don’t get those snowflake panties of yours in a bunch. Okay lady, let’s hack into the system and get those bay doors open.”_


	17. Mick Rory Meets His Match - Button, Button

Carefully closing the case, he tucks it back into the tool box, carefully organizing all of the tools as he puts them back in. Finally, after a long time, his mind feels clear. He feels a nervous energy threading through his skin, like he used to feel just before him and Len pulled a job. **This place is a pit. Can’t think with this dragging at me.** He strips the bed then tosses the sheets together with the dirty clothes. Pulling on some sweatpants, he takes the pile down to the ships laundry, jamming it into the cleaner and slamming the lid down.   
  
Returning to his room, he gathers up all the dishes and food containers and takes it back to the galley to be cleaned or tossed in the trash. In his personal bathroom, he tosses all the hygiene gear into a zippered bag and sets the room to sterilize all surfaces. He tosses the bag onto the mattress. Going through all of his magazines, he grins at a couple of the more recreational ones, tucking them into his black duffel bag, throwing the rest into the trash can.   
  
Deciding to clean out his closet, he tucks his hygiene bag into the duffel, just so he knows where it is. Most of the stuff consisted of burnt, ripped or otherwise damaged clothes. **Into the trash!** He finds his Central City Fire Department turnouts, rolls them up and jams them in the bag. There are a few bits and bobs, nearly sentimental reminders of jobs with Snart. He keeps a couple of the more interesting ones, tossing them into the duffel, trashing the rest.  
  
He takes his very full trash can to the recycler, and empties it then, on the way back to his quarters, he retrieves his clean clothing and bedding from the laundry. He makes the bed up. **Well, in so much as it ever actually gets made.** He snorts. Rolling up most of his clothes, he leaves a clean set on the bed and puts the rest in the duffel.   
  
Tossing the duffel into his closet, he pulls out his hygiene bag and heads to the clean bathroom. He pulls off the sweatpants and climbs into the shower, closing the door behind him.  
  
++++  
  
Walking out of his bathroom, hygiene kit dangling from one hand and rubbing a towel over his scalp, he stops. Turning in a circle, he realizes that everything that was important to him was neatly packed in his black duffel or sitting on his work table. He sucks his lower lip, eyebrows raise and he snorts. **Huh, guess I’m out.**   
  
Tossing on a pair of pants, he grabs a datapad and hops up onto the bed. Leaning against the back wall, he hacks into the medical monitoring system and spoofs the sensors in his bracelet to read as a normal sleep pattern. He removes it and tosses it on the pillow beside him then pulls the comms earbud out, setting it next to the monitor. Breaking into the ships internal sensors, he sets up a masking program that causes the AI to ignore him if he leaves his room.   
  
A couple of hours later, in the middle of the ships normal sleep cycle, he packs a few more items into the black duffel bag and zips it up. Pulling on his jacket, patting the snacks tucked in the pocket next to the jewelry box, he grabs the bag and quietly leaves the ship.  
  
+++++  
  
Mick saunters down the dirt road, duffel hooked over one shoulder, the tracks clearly visible under the full moon light. **Should hit pavement in a couple of miles.** Forty-five minutes later, the dirt road ends as it intersects with a stretch of one-lane asphalt. He pulls out the disk, the red LED already lit up.   
  
Mashing the button down with a gloved thumb, he hears a subdued burst of static. “Hey, Snart. Come and pick my ass up!”  
  
Tucking the device back in his pocket, he looks left then right, and shrugs. **Guess it don’t matter which way I go from here.** He turns right and starts walking down the road.  
  
There is a flash of vertical lightning and that damned jackass in the yellow leather outfit appears in front of him.  
  
“Well, hello there Mr. Rory. So good of you to join us.” He smirks, then suddenly moves into Micks personal space, less than a foot from the burly pyromaniac.  
  
Before Mick can respond, the speedster grabs his chin roughly with one hand, shoving his head up and back. The other hand, vibrating to near invisibility, thrusts into his exposed throat. Gagging and struggling to stay conscious despite the sudden extreme pain and lack of oxygen, he scrabbles for his heat gun, trying to pull it to defend himself. Before he can get it free, the hands are gone and he falls to his hands and knees, sucking in air and spitting up a mouthful of blood.  
  
He settles on his heels and struggles to stand up, pulling and powering up his weapon, “What the hell, Thawne?”   
  
“Your translator has a tracker in it.” The blond man flicks the tiny pill-shaped device at Mick, bouncing it off his chest.  
  
“You coulda warned me.” Brows furrowed, he growls.  
  
“Now _where_ would the _fun_ be in that?” Grinning, he reaches out a hand, “Ready to go?”  
  
“Where’s Snart?” He stows his gun and crosses his arms.  
  
Thawne tilts his head, still grinning, “Oh, tied up on a mission. We should really get going.”  
  
“Fine. Whatever.”  
  
In a burst of lightning, the road disappears from under Micks feet.  
  
+++++  
  
Panting slightly, attempting to keep from puking, Mick sags against the wall next to the open entryway that he was just brought in through. **And I thought I hated flying. Never doing that again.**  
  
“Welcome to The Hall of Doom, Heat Wave.” The speedster bows then disappears in a burst of light.  
  
“So, you’re the new guy…don’t look like much.” A reedy male voice opines sarcastically.  
  
Mick straightens and glares at the source of the voice, a painfully thin man leaning against a wall. He is dressed in an all-black outfit, complete with round sunglasses and a top hat. **Jeez, and I used to tease Len about his damn parka.**  
  
“What’s it to you, skinny?” He growls, wrapping his fingers around the butt of his gun.  
  
" _Relax, man!”_ The guy stands and raises his open hands, “I’m just here to give you the nickel tour. The name is Shade.”  
  
“Whatever, skinny. Let’s just get this over with.”  
  
+++++  
  
After a _delightful_ walking tour of the huge facility, the two end up in what Shade calls the residence wing. Stopping outside a door labeled 0217, he gestures at the electronic faceplate embedded in the wall next to it.  
  
“Here is your quarters. Cold said that he has already set up the lock to respond to you. Just lay your hand on the panel and the door will open.” Waving a half-hearted salute, “See you around.”  
  
He walks off as Mick slaps his palm on the black glass. After a few seconds, the door slides open. He takes a step into the dark room and freezes. **CRAP! A TIME HUNTER!** He darts to the side, pulls his gun and steadies his aim by leaning against the jamb. The bulky figure standing on the far side of the room doesn’t move, doesn’t react.   
  
Mick inches forwards, starts feeling the wall just inside the door with his free hand, attempting to find a switch. The armband on the motionless human shape glows.  
  
“Chronos, would you like me to turn on the lights?” Gideon asks.  
  
His heart jumps in his throat at the name but his voice is level when he rumbles, “Yeah, do that.”  
  
The room lights up and the figure turns out to be a full suit of his Chronos armor, complete with weapons and a fully active wrist unit. **I’m gunna kill Len for that.**  
  
+++++  
  
After fully exploring the combined living room and kitchenette, Mick stows his kit in a closet in the bedroom, tossing his hygiene bag in the attached bathroom.   
  
He flops down on the king sized bed, arms behind his head, and closes his eyes. He hears a low burst of static and his eyes shoot open. **What the…**   
  
A low raspy whisper _”Mick…”_   
  
Low moan, wet swallowing sound, _“I need you…Mick…”_  
  
**Len!** He digs into his pocket and pulls out the disk.  
  
“Len! Where you at?”


	18. Mick Rory Meets His Match - The Detroit Job

A low raspy whisper _”Mick…”_   
  
Low moan, wet swallowing sound, _“I need you…Mick…”_  
  
**Len!** He digs into his pocket and pulls out the disk.  
  
“Len! Where you at?”  
  
A bitten-off whimper of pain, _“Detroit… deal went south, think someone tipped off the rival organization… barely escaped…”_  
  
Rolling off the bed swiftly, he grabs his duffel and dumps everything on the bed and heads to the living room.  
  
“Keep talking, Len. I’m coming.” He strips the Chronos armor and the weapons off the stand and tosses it in the bag but fastens the data cuff on his wrist, shrugging his jacket sleeve over it.  
  
_“Mick… Giganta… she was with me. When gunfight started…started throwing cars”_ Panting, muffled keen. _“…not sure where she is…”_  
  
“Gideon, where is the vehicle bay in this thing? Gotta get some wheels.” Zipping the bag up, he reaches for the holster and heat gun, strapping it on.  
  
“The vehicle bay is located three floors down. Turn left and take the elevator located 100 feet down the corridor.”  
  
_“I’m…I’m in a warehouse… not sure where. I can see a bar on the corner, uh, Stopwatch… what a stupid name.”_   
  
“You gunna make it till I get there? Gunna be real pissed if I get there and you’re dead.”  
  
_“Yeah…”_   
  
+++++  
  
“Mr. Rory, I recommend that you take this vehicle as Mr. Snart may not survive in his current condition should you chose to drive.”  
  
“What the hell is this?” Mick stares at the tiny purple monstrosity sitting in its own alcove.  
  
“It is a prototype aircraft belonging to Lex Luthor. I believe its current designation is the Soar 7.” Gideon continues. “Unfortunately its offensive systems have not been installed yet. At its current top speed, you should reach Mr. Snart within three hours.”  
  
He sucks his lower lip in, scraping his teeth then sighs. **Man, I HATE small spaces.** Running his fingers along the edge of closed cockpit canopy, he finds and opens the panel that raises it. Strapping the bag in the storage space behind the seat, he eyeballs the control layout and figures it shouldn’t be too hard. **Stupid simple compared to my old time ship.**  
  
He climbs in and runs his hands over the throttle and sidestick controller. **Hm, warning lights for engine conditions, navigation and threat warning displays, communications, chaff/flare, landing gear controls.. okay, not bad.**  
  
_“Seatbelt, Mick..”_ Len gently rebukes, a ghost of a smile hanging in the air.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get those snowflake panties of yours in a bunch. Okay lady, let’s hack into the system and get those bay doors open.”  
  
+++++  
  
Three hours later, Mick is hovering over a large warehouse in the southwest part of Detroit, along the waterfront. He has been taunting Len, trying to keep him talking but his partners responses have slowly become shorter, and he is no longer trying to muffle hitches in his breath. The pyromaniac doesn’t ask if he is okay, he knows that Snart hates feeling vulnerable and they both pretend that it is just another normal pickup after a job. He lands on a patch of cement near a loading dock.  
  
He finds Len curled up on the floor in the break room, wads of bloody paper towels pressed against his right chest, shoulder and thigh, duct taped in place. There is a generic medical kit dumped out on the floor, adhesive bandages and individual aspirin packages scattered as if thrown in frustration. His cold gun is laying loosely in his right hand.   
  
When Mick touches his leg, Lens arm comes up and his eyes try and track the intruder. Recognizing Mick, his arm sags and he whines. Mick makes quick work of inventorying his injuries, only exposing enough of Lens skin to be able assess the damage. **Airway is clear, he’s still breathing, gotta control the bleeding.** He pulls the med kit he took from the Waverider, administers a local anesthetic to the wounded areas, then extracts the foreign material, Gideon prompting him on the location of bullets and fragments. He repairs the internal injuries and seals the wounds closed.   
  
Throughout all of this, Lens eyes are squeezed shut, face pale and drawn, his lower lip bloody from biting back the screams. Finally, the tension drains and his face softens as he loses consciousness.  
  
He shifts Len, propping him between his legs, Lens back resting against his chest, head lolling back in the crook of Micks neck. **I’m gunna burn those bastards down real slow. Gunna take my time** His face splits into a wide grin at the thought. **Gotta wait until Len’s ready to move.** He sits, unmoving, for as long as Len needs, pushing through pins and needles and stiffening limbs.   
  
+++++  
  
“Mick… you better have bought me dinner first.” Len breathes into his neck.  
  
“Glad to see your punk ass didn’t quit on me.” Mick rumbles back.  
  
“How long was I out?”  
  
“I don’t know… kinda leaning on my arms.”  
  
Gideon’s voice calls from his sleeve, “Mr. Snart has been unconscious for approximately 32 minutes.”  
  
Len snorts. “How did you like my present?”  
  
“After all of this is done, I’m gunna kill you for putting that thing right where I would see it walkin’ in.” Mick nods, his scruffy jaw rubbing against Lens short hair.  
  
The thief sighs, “I suppose it’s time to move. We need to find out what happened to Giganta.” He struggles to his feet.  
  
Mick rolls onto his knees and drags himself up using a table, grimacing as he stretches and his joints crack. “We should probably clean this up and bug out before the day crew comes in.”  
  
The two of them make short work of gathering up the bloody bandages and stuffing all the medical supplies either back into the pitiful first aid kit or the Waverider medical bag then head out to the loading dock.  
  
“Oh, Mick. Luthor is going to be pissed that you took this.” Len snorts as he walks around the small aircraft.  
  
“Is that who that bald freak was who kept bugging me on the comms till I disabled it?” He shrugs then stows their gear with the duffel, “Looks like your gunna hafta sit in my lap.”  
  
_”Joy."_ He drawls in response.  
  
They climb in and Mick gets them airborne, activating the camouflage system. Len directs them to the nearby power station where the meeting and ambush had occurred. Cop cars with flashing lights and long strips of crime scene tape cordon off the area. There are multiple bodies covered in bloody sheets scattered throughout the large open cement parking lot. Several SUVs and sedans are lying on their sides or roofs with a couple smashed together like someone used one to beat the other. Two were currently still smoldering.  
  
“Gideon, can you scan the bodies from up here, maybe use this buckets sensors and cameras to figure out if one of the bodies is hers?”  
  
“Please stand by.” Gideon links into the system and activates the full-motion video camera ball under the nose of the craft. “Using the infrared camera, I determine that none of the covered intact bodies meet the physical dimensions of Giganta. I cannot confirm that the portions are not hers nor can I check the contents of the vehicles.”  
  
Len hums. “We have three choices; assume she is dead, she’s been captured, or she is on the run. Gideon, can you access all of the cell phones in the immediate area, retrieve their data?”  
  
“Yes. If you will allow me to take control of the aircraft, I will maneuver into an optimal position to gain the most information.”  
  
He shifts in Micks lap. He begins to tap his ring on the nearest panel impatiently.  
  
“Jeez, Len. You gotta bony ass. Quit moving.”  
  
A few minutes later, Gideon reports that one of the dead bodies on the outer edge of the scene had sent a text just prior to death. He bled out due to damage inflicted by multiple bullets in the back. “It appears that one of the sedans exploded and she was blown forward, her head striking the side of another vehicle and she was rendered unconscious. There is no record of any call for ambulance service or report of a woman taken into custody. I will use the GPS data culled from the phones to estimate bases of operations for both groups. If she has been taken prisoner by either group, we can surveil these locations for indicators of her presence.”  
  
“She better be alive.” Mick growls, hands flexing and twitching into fists.  
  
“Oh don’t worry, _Mick_. We are going to make them _all_ pay.” Lens eyes narrow and a predatory grin forms.


	19. Mick Rory Meets His Match - Living Nightmare

Mick, Len and Gideon continue to scrub the data culled from the cell phones around the substation.  
  
+++++  
  
_”I have compared all GPS data collected and, based on frequency of attendance, commonality of both time and location among a majority of those present, and  length of time spent at a given location, I have been able to divide the cell users into a red group and a blue group.”_ Gideon activates one of the navigation displays, with multiple colored dots scattered across a digital map. _” If you will look at the display, I have visually mapped the locations in the appropriate colors.”_  
  
The map zooms in to include Midtown and a long section of 8 Mile. _”Because only one individual sent information regarding Gigantas presence and condition, there is a high probability that his organization has detained her and is holding her at one of these three locations.”_  
  
_”Great.”_ Len huffs and shakes his head.  
  
Mick chuckles, grinning, “Just my kinda places.”  
  
All three are strip clubs.  
  
Len scratches his chin absently, “Considering how small of a window exists  between the text and when the cops arrived, I’m betting that she is at The Black Cat Lounge… it is a straight shot from the substation to Midtown along 85. Queen of Hearts is off of 75 but it’s too far and Jack’s Joint is off of the 39, way too long of a trip.”  
  
Mick maneuvers the Soar 7 along the waterfront, keeping to the U.S. side of the Detroit River until they hit Hart Plaza. He turns northeast and skims low over the intervening couple of blocks. They slowly circle around the building, hovering about forty feet above the street.  
  
“Okay, next step, figure out their surveillance system. Gideon, Check to see if their cameras are wireless or hard lined into their security office.”   
  
_”Yes, Mr. Snart. Please stand by.”_ Gideon manipulates the overhead display, beginning to flicker through various camera angles inside and outside the club, pausing on each to give the men the opportunity to assess the field of view. _”It appears that their system is wireless and was moderately encrypted.”_  
  
“Stop. Stay on this camera for a few minutes.” Len pulls his lip as he studies the screen.   
  
It shows the main stage at a slightly downward angle, as if from a second floor balcony. The tall brass pole is fully lit from multiple different directions. There is a woman tied to the pole, her body intricately wrapped in thin rope, knots forming swirling patterns against her flesh and suit. There is a brutal looking dog collar locked around her throat, embedded with large metal spikes that dig into the flesh of her neck.  
  
Micks brow furrows and a low rumble rolls from his chest. **Oh yeah… they’re gunna pay alright.** “So we gunna go in the front door all cheek and no sneak or guns blazing? I got my suit with me.”  
  
“Considering it’s a free standing structure with a clear field of view on three sides and wide alley between it and the hall next door, unless there is underground access from one of the neighboring buildings, we’re going to have to come in from the front or the top.” Len’s eyes narrow, he flashes a sinful grin, “Or better yet, both. Okay, here’s the plan….”  
  
+++++  
  
The lanky thief walks up East Congress Street, gloved hands in plain view. He approaches the three suited men standing outside the brass doors of the club.  
  
He grins cheekily at them, “Hello boys, looking for me?”  
  
+++++  
  
Two of them drag him roughly inside then proceed to thoroughly pat him down, “Now, now, you’ll have to _pay me_ before you can inspect _that_ merchandise.” He smirks.  
  
“Snart! Good to see you’ve decided to be a man, own up to betraying us.” The crowd of armed men parts and a tall man with a mane of black hair walks up, his arms crossed.  
  
“Considering _we_ were also caught in the crossfire,” Len sneers, “I would think it was _obvious_ we didn’t orchestrate _that_ particular invitation to dance.”  
  
“What I _am_ here for is my bodyguard.” He puts his hand on his hip and moves further into the open area, towards the stage, gesturing with his other, “I’d like to know _why_ you’ve treated her so.. _ungentlemanly_.”  
  
Len glances at her face, her eyes fixed on him, muscles straining, breathing hoarse.   
  
“Boss.” She groans softly, every fiber on edge, focused solely on his presence.  
  
“We can make a lot on selling a meta, especially one that is combat ready.” The other man’s lip curls triumphantly. “After all, we lost a sizable profit when our meeting fell through.”  
  
“Consider the deal open for renegotiation at another time. But she is _not_ for sale.” Sauntering up the stairs onto the main stage, he approaches the bound woman.  
  
“That’s far enough!” The mob boss gestures to a couple of his men and they follow Len up onto the raised platform, fanning out behind him with guns drawn.  
  
Len smiles. He flicks his right index and middle finger. The five guards behind him drop in quick succession, holes suddenly appearing neatly between their eyebrows.   
  
The cold gun drops neatly into his hands from above. He turns and sweeps a tight arc of ice wall, cutting off the rest of club. Bullets lodge in the thick ice wall as he drops to one knee, flicks his knife open and slices up one side of the intricate knot work binding Gigantas limbs.  
  
With a snarl, she frees her arms, reaches up to the metal collar and rips it in two. Gently nudging Len back with her hand as she grows, she leans forward, over the ice barrier.  
  
Len jumps down from the stage, flips a table and proceeds to cover Giganta’s back. She is in a full rage, grabbing suits and squeezing, ripping and slamming them into any flat surface. He ices a couple, they had machine guns and were attempting to catch her in a crossfire.  
  
Gunfire rains down, pinning the thief between the table and the stage.  
  
She sees this and roars defiantly, sweeping her hand along the second floor landing, scooping up the gun men into the palm of her hand and tossing them down to the first floor. She stomps them flat, pressing her heel firmly against the head of one.  
  
Loud voices and gunfire sounds ring out from the third floor.   
  
Suddenly, two screaming, writhing bodies fly over the railing and nearly hit Len as he darts out of the way. “Hey, watch it!”  
  
“Sorry, not sorry!” Mick sings back, leaning over the third floor rail then he catches sight of her with her hands and feet painted red with the blood of her victims, teeth bared, a low growl rumbling the floor.   
  
“Beautiful…” He whispers, transfixed, his eyes dark behind his visor.  
  
A couple of really large men in suits start to punch and wrestle with him. He howls with delight and darts back into the fray.  
  
Soon the sounds of battle move to the second floor as Mick drives the remaining mobsters down the stairwell with pulses of flame from his gun.   
  
The thief and the giantess make quick work of the last of the criminals. Panting loudly, she shrinks down to her normal height. Grimacing, she wipes her hands and feet off on the corpse of the mob boss.  
  
There is a loud thump as Mick, in his Chronos armor jumps from the second floor and lands next to them. He pulls off his helmet, and grins wildly at the utter carnage.   
  
“Uh, _Mick_. The ship is on the _roof_ and you just _torched_ the staircase.”  
  
+++++  
  
Len and Giganta are both sitting on Micks lap. She’s sitting on his right leg and he’s on the arsonists left, their legs intertwined between Micks spread thighs. His arms are wrapped around their waists so he can operate the sidestick and throttle. **Not gunna tell them this bucket has an autopilot.** He grins as he adjusts, shifting her body closer to his.  
  
He licks his lips and breathes deeply in through his nose. The smell of her; blood and fire and sweat. **Damn.**  
  
She gestures at Len, “He boss, very smart but always control self like this.” Makes fist and squeezes it, grunting. “No snacks.”  
  
Taps her head, “You smart like boss…” Strokes his bicep and smiles. “Strong…” She brings up her fist again. “Control?...” She opens her hand, shrugs and grunts again, smiling.  
  
Bringing up both hands, she curls in closer to Mick, laying both on his chest. “Means hot man has MANY snacks.” Leaning in, she purrs in his ear. The ship drops a few feet suddenly and leans left.  
  
_”Mick!”_  
  
+++++  
  
Mick drops Len and Giganta off at one of the Rogues safe houses they established a while ago in Gotham.  The thief had been casing a local hockey rink for a very special job. The Stanley Cup was supposed to be on loan for a couple of weeks leading up to an all-star exhibition game. They ended up having to call the job off when the Justice League decided to have a month long conference with the cities financial elite during the same time the Cup was on display. Not even Len would brave that kind of heat.  
  
It was agreed that Mick would return solo in the aircraft and make up some excuse as to why he suddenly left, not letting on that he went to rescue his partner-in-crime and fetching bodyguard. The other two would finish investigating who tipped the rival gang off then return to the Hall of Doom on their own.  
  
+++++  
  
The headquarters auto guidance system neatly brings the small craft into the bay and tucks it into its designated spot. As Mick powers down the systems and pops the canopy, a group of people swarm the ship.  
  
“Why the hell do you steal _MY ship_? What were you doing in Detroit?” Lex Luthor sputters angrily.  
  
Surround by Luthor, Mercy and a couple of his body guards, Mick props his feet up on the edge of the canopy seal, a greasy red, white and blue bag sitting on his lap. He noisily gnaws on a piece of meat.  
  
“What? I wanted some chicken.”


	20. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Picnic

Mick lands the small ship on the roof of the old abandoned Shrecks department store. He pushes the canopy release and it raises up. Len climbs out carefully, sliding down the side and landing gracefully on his feet. Stretching his long arms over his head, he arches his back and sighs.  
  
Giganta curls into Micks lap, nuzzling her lips against his neck, and purrs. "Thank you. You strong, good pack mate. Save boss. Save me."  
  
He wraps his arms around her waist, feeling her skin under his hands, warm and inviting. She begins to lick and nibble his earlobe. His eyes drift shut, a low rumble deep in his chest. After a few minutes, he starts to shift in his seat, adjusting slightly.  
  
He sighs. "Um, I gotta piss."  
  
She huffs and climbs out of the cockpit. Mick launches himself out and over the side and disappears down into the store. Len walks over and stands next to her, his hands jammed into the pockets of the over-sized parka.  
  
"I guess I owe you a dress." He pulls out a wad of pink fabric, handing the wrinkled, stained outfit to the giantess.  
  
She sniffs it and shrugs.  
  
The burly pyromaniac saunters back onto the roof and joins them, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close, resting his cheek against the side of her head. She hoots softly, leaning into him.  
  
"Mick, I'm going to need you to run some errands for us before you head back to HQ." Len gestures at Giganta. "She's going to need some clothes if we are going to go the safe house on foot. Do it legal, don't need the heat."  
  
The thief arches his eyebrow when he doesn't immediately move out. _"Now, Mick."_  
  
"Yeah, yeah... got it." He grumbles, releasing her with a brush of his lips on her hair.  
  
"Can I borrow that?" He gestures to the dress dangling from her fist.  
  
She hands it over and he disappears back into the building. The two follow him down the stairs to the top floor. They split off and he continues down to the ground floor. Len and Giganta explore the rooms off of the hallway. Most are empty, stripped bare of anything useful or worth anything. The walls are covered with graffiti and trash litters the floor. In the largest office space, they find a old leather couch. It is covered in stains and rips.  
  
Giganta drops heavily onto one of the cushions, her nose wrinkling at the dust that rises. Len eyes the surface with disdain, wrapping his arms around himself and elects to remain standing. **I don't even want to _think_ what those stains are.** He shudders.  
  
"Boss..."She frowns. "Why you keep make space between him and me? He grab me, I grab him, no grief so why?"  
  
Startled, Len just stares at her. **I keep forgetting she's more than what she appears. Same thing others do to Mick.**  
  
"He... he doesn't know where you come from." He admits, lips twisting. "I'm not sure how he'll take it."  
  
She scratches her cheek roughly. "No big deal to me that he not gorilla." She grins. "He look like one. Strong. Good jaw. I will tell him and then all good."  
  
"NO!... no, let me." He drops his hands and takes a step towards her. "I've known him since we were... well, a long time. Let _me_ tell him... before... " He gestures to the door with his fingers. "... you two take this any further."  
  
She furrows her brow and scrapes her teeth across her lower lip. "You boss. You say no claim on me, only ask for strong arm. I make choose to offer to Hot Man. MY choose. He choose offer to me. I wait small time for you because you boss, you friend but not YOUR choose to make."  
  
He sighs. "You are right. Will you wait until we are back at HQ, so I can show him the files?"  
  
"No more space. I wait for more." The giantess grunts and slaps chest. "Short time then _will_ tell him."  
  
+++++  
  
Mick soon returns, arms draped with multiple large bags, a wide grin on his stubbled face. He drops them at her feet and kneels to start rummaging through them. She leans forward as he fishes out a large black t-shirt and flicks it open. It is emblazoned with the Gotham Fire Department logo.  
  
Len groans. "Really, Mick?"  
  
"What?" The pyro flashes a toothy smile. "Got her matching sweatpants, too. Don't get your panties in a bunch, I got her other clothes, too. Toothbrush and soap, things like that."  
  
"Annnnd..." He pulls a large greasy paper bag from a plastic one. "... lunch!"  
  
He fishes out and tosses a pack of unscented baby wipes at Snart who snatches it deftly out of the air, rips open the tab on the top, and hands out the towelettes. Scrubbing his long fingers carefully, Len sighs in relief as the filth blackens the towel. Dropping it, he pulls another and cleans his face and neck.  
  
Giganta wipes most of the grime off her hands and bounces on the couch excitedly, waving her hands at the bag Mick has in his hands.  
  
"Wait." He puts the bag on top of the empty plastic one then pulls out a large outdoor blanket from another bag.  
  
He lays it out on the floor, scoots onto it and pats the space next to him. She leaps off the couch and curls up next to him, watching as he drags bags onto the blanket, laying out a feast on paper plates. He piles a plate high with food and hands her the plate with a fork. Dropping the fork, she puts the plate by her feet and proceeds to messily eat the meat, coating her face and hands with grease.  
  
Len drops down onto the other side of Mick, shrugging out of his coat and laying it carefully behind him.  
  
"I got some fruit and drinks in one of these." He digs around, pulling out a couple of jugs of bottled water and some bananas.  
  
The lanky thief dips his fingers into the bag of chicken and pulls out a breast, putting it on a plate with a small amount of mashed potatoes. He fishes out a fork and knife and takes small measured bites. **Two peas in a pod.** He snorts, watching the other two biting and ripping at the meat, stuffing generous forkfuls of sides in their mouths.  
  
Soon the plates are empty and she grabs a banana. Flipping it so the stalk was at the bottom, she digs her thumbnail into the skin at the other end, peeling it effortlessly. Micks eyebrows raise.  
  
"I thinks it's time for you to head back to HQ." Len drawls. "Don't want anyone to connect the dots and figure out where we're at before we're ready."  
  
Mick rolls his eyes. "Whatever Len... I'll get outta your hair."  
  
Leaning into Giganta. "Hey, walk me out?"  
  
Nodding around a mouthful of fruit, she swallows and stands. She pulls him up easily. He grabs a bag of food to take with him on the trip back. They walk back to the stairs and up to the roof. They pause by the small ship. He tosses the bag in the back and rests his hands on her hips, gently pulling her forward, tilting his head down slightly to look into her eyes, a low rumble in his chest. She slips her arms around his thick neck, pulling herself against his chest, lips inches from his.  
  
The ships engines begin to sputter and fire in small bursts, the flaps on the wings wiggling up and down.  
  
_"Chronos, someone is attempting to override my control of the Soar 7 and set a course for Legion HQ."_ Gideon calls from his wrist. _"I do not know how long I can interfere. I advise that you climb into the cockpit immediately."_  
  
Giganta pushes back reluctantly away from the warmth and doubles in height, stepping over to the ship and gripping the leading edge of the wings, pushing back against the engines thrust. "Get in, Hot Man."  
  
Mick swears as he scrambles up from the back of the wing and plants himself in the seat just as the canopy closes, locking him in. He lays a palm on the inside of the glass. She leans forward and plants a large kiss on the glass over his hand and smiles. Stepping back quickly, she gets out of the way as the engines surge and the ship launches from the rooftop.  
  
She shrinks down to normal size, watching the craft disappear into the night. "You have fun watch, boss? I made promise, I keep. You do same."  
  
"I assure you, that wasn't me who activated its recall code." Len steps out from the darkened stairwell behind her. "We've got work to do. Time to go."


	21. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Fire Trap

As Len sorts through the bags and packs up the blanket and food, Giganta pulls on the Gotham F.D. shirt and sweat pants. He snorts as he finds a pair of mens flip-flops and tosses them to her. Staring at them, she shrugs and puts them on. They gather up their things and head down to the first floor.  
  
The area around the closed department store is a mix of trendy new bars and niche restaurants sandwiched between boarded up stores and graffiti covered walls. The people on the sidewalks are a mix of fast-moving , expensively dressed bar patrons flitting from venue to venue ignoring the slow moving people who have no where to go, clutching layers of plaid and stained denim around them, sharing cigarettes and bottles in brown wrappers.  
  
As they turn a corner, they see smoke pouring out of a raised first floor apartment, flames licking the brick through a broken window next to the walkup stairs. There is the sound of breaking glass and high-pitched screams. Multiple small hands grip and push against the bars latched across a window between the fire and the corner of the building.   
  
Giganta growls, drops her bags and darts across traffic, ignoring the squealing of breaks and curses.  
  
"Wait... WAIT!..." Len barks out irately then mutters to himself, dropping the bags discretely between two parked cars and following her across the street. **Should have realized she wouldn't have stopped. It was all in her file.**  
  
Growing slightly larger, just enough to strain the shirt and sweatpants, Giganta grips the outer bars closest to the brackets and grimaces at the heat beginning to scald her hands. Len swears under his breath and fires four short bursts at the brackets where they are fastened to the brick walls. She nods, grunts and rips the framework of bars free, tossing it behind her. Digging her fingers in the windows wooden frame, she pulls it free, the remaining glass shattering.  
  
The woman hands the infant to her and she passes it to a startled Len. Reaching back up, Giganta helps her get the other children out and finally allows the woman to use her knee as a step stool to climb safely to the sidewalk.  
  
Gignata turns and stifles a giggle as she sees all the children clustered around Len, hands clutching the bottom third of the parka, faces buried in the plush fabric. The infant was curled in one of his arms, half-asleep, sucking on one of Lens finger tips.  
  
"Thank you for saving us!" The woman cries out as she scurries across the street to her family.  
  
Giganta follows her and grins wide slapping the the logo on her chest. "Fire department!"  
  
"Luckily, she was out _running_ when you needed her." Len drawls, looking at the giantess with a raised eyebrow, urging her to be quiet, as he hands over the baby.  
  
The woman eyes them carefully as she wraps her arm around the bundle, gathering the rest of her brood around her, a small grin on her face. "You should probably go before the fire department comes. I don't want such upstanding citizens to be arrested when you should be thanked."  
  
"Why would you think _we_ are lying?" He looks back towards the soot-covered mother.  
  
She points down at Gigantas flip-flops.  
  
+++++  
  
Leaving all the food and the blanket with the family, the duo departs, heading a couple of blocks north to the safe house, an apartment over a local dive bar. The few sketchy patrons pointedly ignore them as they walk up to the bar. The bartender, a portly balding man, grunts and tosses Len a key ring and goes back to wiping down a dry glass with a dirty bar towel.  
  
Down the hallway, past the bathroom and the small office, is a door marked cleaning supplies. Len unlocks the door and reveals a windowless stairway leading to the second floor. He tucks the key ring in a pocket as they climb the stairs. At the top is another door, this one secured with a keypad and small camera.  
  
Lens long fingers dance over the soft rubber keys and he leans forward as the camera scans his eye.  
  
Gesturing her forward, he enters another code. "Don't blink." He pulls her head down so that the light hits her eye.  
  
She snarls slightly but allows him to hold her in place as it maps her retina.  
  
Pulling open the door, he saunters inside dropping the bags on a small table just inside the living room. She grunts, following him in. Scanning left and right, he checks to see if anything has been disturbed since the aborted Stanley Cup job. For the first time, in a long couple of days, he can close his eyes and lower his guard... well... in so much as he ever does.  
  
"I'm going to take a shower. First bedroom is yours." Len sighs and goes to the room at the end of the hall.  
  
Fishing out a set of clean clothes from the closet, he leaves his jacket and shoes on the floor and goes to the bathroom across the hall. Locking the door behind him, he strips efficiently while the water warms up. He examines the puckered scars from Micks first aid, makes sure they haven't ripped open then climbs in the shower to clean up.  
  
+++++  
  
Forty-five minutes later, he finally feels human again, dressed in clean clothes and rubbing a towel over his short hair, as he returns to the living room. He finds Giganta asleep on the couch, snoring loudly, bare feet propped up on the coffee table next to four empty bottles of Micks beer, the TV showing some nature show.  
  
**Time to get some work done.** He walks over to a desk tucked into the corner and opens a laptop sitting on its slightly dusty surface and powers it up. Sitting quietly in the chair, elbows resting on this knees, he rests his chin on this thumbs and tents his index fingers against the scar on his lip. **Two avenues of approach. Either my side has a mole or Mr.Taddeuccis does. The site was too remote for a third party to simply find their way there at the exact time.**  
  
Len logs into his secured, anonymous browser. **First step, identify who was attacking us. I'll need the data Gideon collected.**  
  
Opening a chat with his operations superintendent, he sends a request to Blacksmith to upload all of the data and analysis Gideon collected and created to the secure server.  
  
_"Roger, Boss! Mick is back. He wanted you to know that he enjoyed burning Lex... he didn't ACTUALLY burn him, just pushed his buttons."_ Len could imagine Luthors scalp bright red with frustration. He permits himself a small smile and shakes his head. **Mick takes as much delight in pissing people off as he does burning things.**  
  
While waiting for the download, he begins to jot down the timeline for attack and everything he can remember, from the types and colors of the vehicles and the types of behaviors they exhibited during the attack. **Hm. Purple SUVs, multiple attackers, work together, somewhat methodical. Use fully automatic weapons but in bursts... possible military background. One vehicle may have had explosives that either react to fire or heat or may have had damage to a trigger.**  
  
He sends another message to Blacksmith. _"I'll need Crowbar up at the safe house. I need to lean on his knowledge and experience. Find a pretext, send him up here to fill a supply order, keep him in the dark."_  
  
A loud gurgling noise rolls out from the couch, a striking counterpoint to the even louder snores, pulling him out of his thoughts. He sighs, wiping his face with his hand and reaches over to the land line on the desk. He calls the bar downstairs and orders two salads and one of everything else on the menu.


	22. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Dot Matrix

_“Upload complete, boss.”_ Message pops up on his screen.  
  
**Okay, let’s see how these organizations operate.** Pulling up the cell phone information, he pulls it into the link analysis profile he built around the red and purple labeled cell phones at the crime scene. He absently pulls his lower lip as he watches spider webs form on the screen between the phones, locations and user profiles, the thickness and color based on a combination of relational factors.  
  
New unidentified locations pop up between phones whenever a group sits at the same coordinates at the same time. A few cell phones pop up near or on the same locations but aren’t linked by call data, only by time and place. He snorts and smirks. **Good thing she pulled the cell tower data, too. Looks like they may have alternate routes of communication. And the cops wonder why they can never get the drop on me. Glad I’ve upped my game from just hanging out in the Motorcar.**  
  
As the massive network profile builds, he pulls up his geospatial software and preps it run a timeline scenario from the final network file once it finishes cycling. He leans back in his chair once all of the parameters are entered, tapping his fingers impatiently on his thigh.  
  
An arm snakes around him and a calloused hand roughly shoves the keyboard aside then drops a plate piled high with food in front of him. **What the hell???** He snarls and glares up at Giganta as she juts her jaw out, brow furrowed, daring him to respond. Finally, he rubs his face with his hand and nods. She huffs and retrieves a napkin, silverware and an open beer for him.  
  
He picks at the food, eating small bites as he waits. He hears the TV switch over to some sort of cartoon channel. Glancing over his shoulder, it appears to be some sort of superhero group running around the world conveniently positioned to easily stop the machinations of a group of supervillains. **Yeah, like it was that easy.**  
  
A sharp tone pulls him back to his computer. Long fingers dancing over the keys, he runs the timeline script and it ingests the analysis. He hums absently as he watches the two layers of red and purple spider webs pull and push and shift over the landscape of Detroit. Suddenly, he sucks in a breath and leans forward. One of the unlinked cells appears suddenly next to a red group then shifts abruptly, nearly instantaneously, to a purple group and then back to the red group. **That shouldn’t be possible. Not physically… unless…**  
  
Typing quickly in the open chat window. _”Blacksmith, get me all cell data in proximity to HQ. Include tracking information for Mick Rorys communications disk as a comparison baseline.”_  
  
_”Roger, standby….. sending.”_  
  
Frowning and biting his lower lip, he runs it through the analysis software then the geospatial script. Labeling the cell a bright yellow and Heat Waves tracker as an orange, he watches as the orange dot pops in and out across the world. A couple of days ago, the orange dot appears then seems to slowly move down a stretch of unimproved road in the middle of nowhere. It suddenly disappears. Only a few minutes later, it appears to have traveled over several hundred miles, appearing at HQ at exactly the same time as the yellow one reappears. **I’ll bet, if there is any towers near where Micks old crew was parked, that cell will appear just before Micks signal disappears.**  
  
He hisses under his breath, lip curling in disgust. _"Thawne."_  
  
+++++  
  
A little while later, there is a knock on the door. **Finally!**  
  
The large black man takes a step back as Len abruptly opens the door. “Didn’t expect you, Cold. Thought this was a pickup and delivery job.”  
  
The thief drawls. “Yeah, Crowbar, delivering _you_ to _me_. Turns out we have a rat in the nest but I still need to accomplish the mission.”  
  
He gestures over the open laptop. “What I need from _you_ is look at a map of identified locations throughout Detroit and give me your impressions regarding each. I’ve got Blacksmith hitting city and county planning and accessors for legal owners but I want to know who really operates them and what they use them for.”  
  
As the two walk over to the desk, Crowbar eyes the half-eaten spread covering the coffee table and grins broadly. “Let me guess, that lovely lady, Ms. Gi, is here. I like a woman who has an appetite and isn’t afraid to show it.”  
  
Malcom drops heavily into the chair and leans forward to peer at the screen, rubbing his slightly scruffy chin.  
  
Len grips the backrest with one hand and uses the mouse to show him how to drop a label to a point. “Just type in the name of the organization that owns it and what they use the location for. If you have any other information regarding it, toss it into this text document and reference the label identifier.”  
  
“Hey, do you think I can take her out for a real meal when I’m done here? I didn’t stop and grab chow cuz I thought this was gunna be a quick turn-around.”  
  
Stepping back and folding his arms across his chest, Snart raises an eyebrow and nods back towards the table. “If you get hungry, take whatever is left. Beers are in the fridge.”  
  
After an hour, the vigilante-for-hire stands and stretches. "Marked up everything I could. Some, got no idea what they are. Just street corners that nobody holds."  
  
He ambles over to the table and slides onto the couch, grabs a plate and starts scavenging from the half-full plates.  
  
As Len folds himself back in front of the computer, he catches sight of Giganta stumbling from the spare bedroom to the bathroom. He holds himself still as she yawns and waves, entering the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel dangling from one fist. **I _have_ to teach her to _wear clothes_ when there is company.** He permits himself a slight shake of the head as he focuses on the entered data.  
  
Applying the original geospatial data coded to the two organizations over the labels provided by Crowbar, he finds that the young man was truthful and fairly accurate in his assessment of who owns the known locations. The mob, he was familiar with. The other group, the Ultraviolets, was based on older gang from the 19th century that held sway over parts of Detroit. One or two locations along the border between the two groups has switched but that is to be expected in turf wars. The rest of the information, primarily the usage, could be considered as probably accurate.   
  
Turning back to the couch, he finds his guest frozen, sandwich halfway to his mouth, eyes locked on the switched off television screen. **Crap.** A still-completely-naked Giganta is reflected in the dark surface, rubbing the towel on her damp hair and walking towards the back of the couch. Leaning over the guys shoulder, she reaches for his motionless hand.  
  
"Gunna eat that?" She pulls the roast beef on rye out of his grip, jams it in her mouth, turns and walks back into the spare bedroom, still drying her short hair, slamming the door behind herself with the heel of her foot.  
  
Len couldn't help it, he snorts even as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. **Mick, you have _no idea_ what you are getting into.**  
  
"Mr. Tandy...." Len sighs then snaps. _"Mr. Tandy!"_  
  
Finally, Malcoms jaw snaps shut and he shifts to look back at him.   
  
"Join me, please." Len pulls up the network analysis and highlight four cell phone numbers with attached photos and names. "I need you and your crew to return to Detroit and broker a peace deal between the Ultraviolets and the mob. Find these four people and get them to sit down."  
  
He opens a video montage of the carnage, all the mics hot, that occurred in the strip club, from the time Len flicked his fingers to cameras going to static one by one as the building burned down from within. By the end of twenty minutes of security footage, Crowbar was tense, arms folded under hunched shoulders, legs crossed, eyes nervously flicking towards the bedroom door then away.  
  
"Feel free to use this footage to _motivate_ anyone who seems reluctant." Len drawls, eyes cold over his very satisfied smirk. "If you have no further questions, I suggest you get started... _right now._ "  
  
Malcom starts at the tone and begins to stand. "Yeah... yeah, I'll... uh, get right on it, Captain."  
  
Grabbing the jacket he shucked off earlier, he moves towards the door.  
  
_"Forgetting something?"_ Len snaps, waving a datastick in his hand.  
  
Crowbar reaches out, snatches it delicately from his outstretched fingertips then practically runs out the door, halfway down the stairs before the door finishes closing behind him.  
  
Giganta saunters out of the bedroom again, dressed in the sweatpants and top that Mick bought her and looks around. "Where man go?"  
  
"Oh, he suddenly realized he had _business elsewhere_."

 


	23. Len Snarts Giant Problem - Rat Trap

“Time to head home.” Snart taps a few keys to upload the data to the server back in the Rogues ready room then wipes the hard drive, leaving only the basic software package installed and powers it down.   
  
“Strip the beds, collect the towels, and leave them outside the door.” He turns and gathers up all the plates onto the trays and begins stacking them on the landing.   
  
Grunting, Giganta drops a pile of linens next to the dirty dishes then goes back inside to grab her bags. Len does a quick wipe down of all the surfaces and the two head downstairs.   
  
He hands the portly bartender the keys with a folded wad of cash. “Car.”  
  
The man fishes a single vehicle key from his jean pocket and tosses it. Jerking his head to the parking lot in the back of bar, he walks down to the other end of the bar and begins to cut limes into little wedges.  
  
As they walk out the back door into the alleyway, Len realizes the parking lot is empty except for an ancient boxy gold Cadillac sedan with a white roof. **Fabulous.**  
  
An hour later, the car is tucked inside the Hall of Dooms vehicle bay, leaking oil and god knows whatever other fluids onto the pristine floor. He escorts Giganta to her private space then saunters into the ready room.   
  
He finds several of the Rogues clustered around the large view screen used for briefings, a video game visible. It looks like some sort of fighting game based on that awful superhero cartoon he had to endure at the safe house. He pauses, shocked as he realizes that one of the characters looks like a horrible caricature of himself in his parka, complete with a corny version of his cold gun.  
  
A slight young man with dark hair and glasses is calmly pressing triggers, buttons and manipulating small joysticks on a controller. It appears that he is controlling the Snart knockoff. His opponent, a stocky pale man with no hair or eyebrows, is cursing as his fingers furiously dance over the controller as he jerks it around in the air, the red streak on the screen equally frenetic. The other four team members are screaming encouragements and making bets as the two dueled.  
  
_“Freeze his ass, Hartley!”_  
  
_“Run him down, Kyle!”_  
  
The streak charges the snarky, goggle-wearing villain, passing right through him and slams into a brick wall, bouncing off and standing stunned in the center of the screen. The Pied Piper smiles as his avatar flickers into view on the other side of the immobile character. The frosty twins wave at each other and the new one fires his gun, encasing the streak in a thick layer of ice. The gun-toting character saunters up, smirks and pistol-whips the block, shattering the red-suited opponent into hundreds of shiny shards of ice.  
  
Cold permits himself a small satisfied smirk before dropping it back to a purposeful scowl.  
  
“ _Everybody out!_ ” He snarls.  
  
The ribbing stops instantly and they immediately gather up their trash, pounding Rathaway on his shoulders, rubbing Nimbus across his scalp as they amble out, door sliding closed behind them.  
  
“Good to see the team bonding.” He smiles at his operations lead, Blacksmith. “I just got an idea on how to handle my rodent infestation.”  
  
+++++  
  
She gives him a sideways grin. “Don’t know where you got the idea but I think it will work. I’ve scanned everything you requested into the mainframe and the units are installed for maximum spread.”  
  
“Hm. Run through an operations check one more time. Make sure Mick fully understands what I need him to do. I need to go bait the hook.”  
  
+++++  
  
A small warning tone emits from a computer in the corner of the ready room. Blacksmith taps a button and saunters over to the work bench. She leans over the table next to a fully absorbed Leonard Snart, both examining the inner workings of the cold gun, disassembled and spread out on the surface.  
  
The ready room door slides open. Eobard Thawne runs in a blink to face the work table. He glares at the two Rogues.   
  
“Snart!” He snarls.  
  
She looks up and steps back, eying the speedster up and down. “Boss, I’m going to go check on the repairs to your motorcycle.”  
  
She exits through the double doors leading directly to the vehicle bay.  
  
_“Yes?”_ Len drawls, not looking up from adjusting a resistor setting on the trigger assembly. “So, why didn’t you do the job yourself in Detroit? Pure incompetence.”   
  
He picks up the leads to a small meter and checks the voltage across the rheostat.  
  
“You know, without that gun, you’ve got nothing to protect you but that smart mouth of yours.” Eobard smiles, vibrating slightly. “Your operations lead can run the teams without you. In fact, I’m not sure why we even need you now.”  
  
He suddenly shifts, appearing on the other side of the table, standing behind the thief. Cockily, Snart ignores him, continuing to adjust and monitor the voltage flow within the part. The yellow-clad arm crooks up, vibrates to near invisibility and plunges into Len’s back.  
  
Suddenly, a cold white stream of light slams into his victim from across the room, passing through him and covering the speedster from shoulder to floor in a thick layer of ice.  
  
The air shimmers in the aisle between two rows of racks and Captain Cold emerges, his elegant angular face framed by the furry trim of his hood, eyes hidden by goggles, a wide smirk on his delicate lips. Arm straight and steady, maintaining his bead on the trapped Thawne, he steps forward.  
  
Eobard snarls, his left hand slowly trying to vibrate free, hidden from view below the table edge. He yelps as a hot metal object jabs him firmly in the back of the head, burning his scalp and sizzling a patch of short blond hair. Twisting his head around on his neck, he catches a glimpse of the wildly grinning stocky pyromaniac brandishing the powered up heat gun, a low warning rumble deep in chest.   
  
Len waves his free hand and drawls. “Here’s the thing. I have _trust issues_.”  
  
Mick snorts.   
  
“When someone I’ve made a deal with decides to… I don’t know… _kill me_... I tend to get a little single-minded. I like to _know why_.” His lip curls into a sneer. “Speaks volumes that the only angle I can figure is you don’t like me. Odd, everyone likes my _sparkling personality._ ”  
  
His partner chokes slightly at the turn of phrase, his brow furrows and grin disappears.   
  
Len eyes him for a minute as he moves around the table, gun still trained on the speedster. “And I haven’t even gotten to the best part… I haven’t _done anything_ to cause you to dislike me. Usually, I’ve stolen their favorite painting or their girlfriend or boyfriend decided to take a little walk on the wild side. But with you, nothing.”  
  
“Near as I can figure, you want me dead because of something I _will_ do in the future, something I haven’t even considered yet. Rather than spins my wheels trying to keep a _special little snowflake_ like you appeased…” He huffs then snarls. “…not that I would change a damn thing about how I operate for anyone, I am just going to make a little observation then propose a deal that I think you're going to accept.”  
  
“It seems to me like you are constantly running. More than simply using your speed as a form of efficient transportation. It’s like you are _running away_ from something." Lens brow furrows. "Any time you pause in one place, for any serious length of time, maybe it hastens some undesirable fate. Eventually, whatever it is will find you and take you out.”  
  
He smiles and cocks his head, bringing the gun up to rest on his shoulder. “So here’s the _deal_. You come after me or anyone in my Rogues or anyone I designate as off limits and I will provide that thing with an opportunity to meet you. With my Rogues and tech, you'll never see us coming."   
  
Len leans up against the table and tosses his chin towards Mick. "Maybe we burn you so you can’t run then freeze you in place so you can’t heal, see what happens."   
  
Heat Wave hums in appreciation, the grin returning.  
  
The thief flicks a gloved finger against the ice just over Thawnes chest. "Every time you attempt to free yourself, begin to heal, maybe it will draw its attention and you won’t be able to get away in time. I think that it’s a more than fair deal considering I’m letting you slide on the whole _attempted murder by proxy_ attempt.”   
  
The hand protruding from the holograms chest begins to beep and the Reverse-Flash stretches his chin up and away from the alarm, his eyes beginning to widen with panic at the sound.  
  
"So, what's your answer?"  
  
" _Yes... yes, I agree to your terms..._ " The blond spits out the words quickly. "Now free me before it comes."  
  
"Mick..." He grins at his partner and saunters out of the line of fire. "Burn him."  
  
"Hell YES!" Mick grips Hot Rod in both hands and fires a stream of red hot flaming liquid at the base of the ice, slowly directing it up as it melts and the trapped mans costume begins to smolder and burn.  
  
As soon as his legs are free, there is a burst of lightning and Eobard slams into the door, breaking away the rest and disappearing in a flash through the opening.  
  
The pyro holsters his weapon and fishes out a small silver pouch from his pocket. Popping a small cookie into his mouth. "Think he's gunna try for payback?"  
  
Len eyes the door as it closes and sighs. "Yeah."  
  
"Good!" Mick grins, slapping his gun affectionately.

 


	24. Mick Rory meets his match...

The two men enter the domed briefing room. It is dominated in the center by a U-shaped table with chairs running along the outer edge. A woman dressed in an animal print leotard is curled up in a chair, arms wrapped around her folded legs. On the opposite end of the table, a man in a large domed silver helmet and black neoprene wetsuit sits, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table surface. Along the left wall, there is a large net woven between two curved stanchions. There are several pillows and crumpled blankets haphazardly tossed on it.  
  
"Cool, hammock." Mick rumbles and diverts to head directly towards it.  
  
Shade slides into a chair next to Cheetah and leans back, a wicked grin on his face as he watches the thief cross the room. Heat Wave drops heavily into the pillows, laying back and crossing his arms behind his head, lower legs dangling over the edge.  
  
Cheetah uncurls from her seat, leans forward and purrs, "You're not gunna warn him?"  
  
"He thinks he's special just because Cold is his buddy. I'll bet you a hundred that Giganta tears him apart before anyone can stop her."  
  
She eyes the burly bald man sprawled in the netting, watching him pull a silver pouch from a pocket in his old army jacket and noisily eat tiny cookies. "Hmmm... I think I'll take that bet. I don't think this is going to go down like you think."  
  
The door slides open and tall, broad-shouldered woman pads in on bare feet, a short ragged pink dress swinging loosely against her muscular thighs. Shade chuckles darkly and slaps Cheetahs shoulder. "This will be good."  
  
The short-haired woman turns and strides aggressively towards the netting, her freckled face set into a scowl. Stopping abruptly in front of Heat Wave, she lashes out with a callused foot, kicking him in his shin.  
  
"Get out of my nest." She growls, slapping her chest loudly then blowing a loud huff through her nose. "Or I take you out."  
  
Mick freezes, startled, a cookie halfway to his mouth. His eyes shoot open. Grinning cheekily, he runs his eyes suggestively up and down her athletic frame. He extends his arm, the snack dangling from his gloved fingers. "Cookie?"  
  
Her eyes narrow and her head tilts as she evaluates the offer. She leans forward slowly and sniffs the offered treat. Delicately, she bites down and pulls the tiny cookie from his grasp then shoves it in her mouth with a long finger. Her eyes lock on his as she slowly drags her finger out through pursed lips, sucking off the crumbs. Mick's jaw slowly drops, his eyes darken as his pupils flare.  His tongue darts out and wets his lips.  
  
Jerking his head up, he pats the empty section of blanket, inviting her to join him. She stares at him for a moment then climbs nimbly into the net, curling around his side and resting her chin on his shoulder. She skims her nose along his jawline, "You smell good..." Giganta whispers, breath warm against his ear, "...like whiskey and chocolate."  
  
Mick shifts slowly, turning his torso to face her, "Taste like it, too." He leans forward, his lips inches from hers.  
  
"If you two are done getting _acquainted_.." a nasal voice drawls, breaking the moment, "... I'd _like_ to get this meeting started."  
  
They both turn and glare at the lanky man standing over them. Brows furrowed over icy blue eyes, a scowl twisting his delicate lips, Cold silently challenges them to defy him. Satisfied he has their attention, he turns and strides confidently along the outer edge of the table, to the podium at the center of the curve.  
  
Cheetah smirks and whispers to Shade, "Told you." She lays her hand on the table, palm up and taps the center with her other hand, "Pay up."


	25. Mick Rory's Finally Met his Match - Waterfall

As the meeting ends and everyone gets up to leave, Mick leans into Gigantas neck, his lips near her ear, “Dinner?”  
  
She smiles and grunts happily. They both stand up, his gloved hand gently stroking along her forearm.  
  
“ _Mick._ ”  
  
“Kinda busy, Len.” He turns and walks towards the door with her.  
  
“ _Now, Mick._ ” Lens voice softens, “It’s important.”  
  
Eyebrows raised, Mick looks back at him. **What the hell? Len never uses that tone of voice… gotta be serious.**.  
  
Turning back to the giantess, “Hey, Gigi. I’ll pick something up and meet you later at your spot, yeah?”   
  
She runs her fingers across his jaw and down his chest as she nods then leaves, a wide grin on her face.  
  
“What is it, Snart?” He grumbles, not letting on that he caught the undercurrent in the request to stay.  
  
The lanky thief gestures for him to join him at one of the displays that are embedded in the surface of the table. Leaning forward on one hand, he dances his long fingers across the surface. A current picture of Giganta is in the upper left corner with a file number. Below the file name and photo is a list of documents, mostly technical and medical reports, and some photos listed only by name.  
  
“There are some things that you need to know before… _this_..” He looks up and waves a hand between Mick and the door. “…happens.”  
  
Mick crosses his arm and eyes Len, “I really don’t give a rat’s ass what’s in that file.”  
  
“Mick… you need to know because she’s as damaged up here as we are.” He taps his head, “Has a lot of the same issues that you do, mainly derived from her genetic history, and scars… _like mine_.”  
  
Micks brow furrows, hands drop into fists, and he growls, “Who do I burn?”   
  
“No one… no one left alive… “ Len scrubs his face, leans back against the table and wraps his arms around himself. “She’s not human… she’s an experiment. She looks human, passes for it mostly because I was able to bring her here, help her adjust.”  
  
Darting a hand out, he presses on the photo with the oldest date stamp. A picture of an adorable, black furred, primate infant pops up and fills the screen.   
  
“She’s a gorilla, Mick. This is her as a baby.” He stares into Mick’s face, looking for any sign of disgust or revulsion.  
  
The burly pyromaniac leans in, looks at the picture then shrugs, “And? I got a lady waiting on me for dinner and you gunna bother with me with shit that don’t matter? See ya around, partner.”  
  
He grins to soften his words, slaps Len on the shoulder gently then turns to leave. “Hey, Len… you didn’t fail me… you ain’t gunna fail her.”  
  
“Thanks, Mick.” Len whispers as the door slides shut.  
  
+++++  
  
Mick hums as he swings into his room. Tossing his jacket on the chair, he heads to his little kitchen area. He heats up a pizza, tosses it onto a big plate. **She’s gunna love this.** He grins mischievously as he grabs a covered plate, puts it on a tray with the pizza, and grabs some beer from his own personal stash. **Shit, I don’t know where her room is…**.    
  
“Hey, Gideon? Where’s Gigantas room?”  
  
_”Down on the hanger level. In the secure space next to the Rogues ready room.”_  
  
**Kinda odd place but okay… more private I guess.** He takes the elevator down and approaches the unlabeled door.   
  
Pressing the door intercom, he rumbles. “It’s me.”  
  
He hears a grunt and the door opens. It’s a short, narrow corridor. There is bathroom on the left and small storage space on the right. At the end of the hall is a curtain of hanging wooden beads separating it from the area beyond.   
  
He parts the beads and is halfway through when he stops, stunned, his eyebrows raise and his mouth gaps open. It looks like a natural cave, with rolling rock walls and ceiling and a flat stone floor. There is an alcove in the left wall with a thick king-sized round mattress, covered with blankets and pillows.  At one end is a large chest filled with books. To the right, there are baskets filled with fruit and dried meats and eating utensils. There is a small sink resembling a carved stone bowl.    
  
The thing that brought him up short was the waterfall in the center of the room, well, that and Giganta standing underneath the running water completely nude. She stands in the sunken pool and is rubbing her arms and scalp. He stares at the healing scars crisscrossing her back, tamping down a surge of anger.  
  
She glances over her shoulder and smiles, “Shoes… take them off.”  
  
He toes his boots off and leaves them by the door. She sinks down in the pool then moves gracefully to the edge, resting her forearms on the curved stone rim. She pats the rough blanket and large pillow lying on the stone floor next to the water and grunts. He settles down next to her, laying out the food and drink. Handing her a slice of pizza, he opens a couple of beers. Taking a swig from his own, he admires her enthusiasm as she moans and stuffs down large mouthfuls and barely chews before swallowing. Grinning he hands her the other beer.  
  
After they finish off the large pizza and half the beers, he pulls the covered plate from behind him. With a flourish, he removes the lid to reveal six thickly frosted chocolate cupcakes. He hands her one and grins as she sniffs it then wolfs it down. He grabs one for himself and sets the plate down.  
  
As it reaches his open mouth, she suddenly pops up out of the water, snatching the cupcake from his hand, dripping water all over his chest. Sinking down slowly, she stares into his eyes as she eats it, licking her lips when she finishes.  
  
“You got my shirt all wet!” He grumbles.  
  
“Take off then.” She shrugs, resting her head on her crossed arms, smiling slightly.  
  
**Screw it!** He peels his gloves off, rolls the suspender straps off his shoulders, then pulls the damp Henley off, tossing it towards the door. He settles back and watches her reaction.   
  
Rising up, she runs her hand up his scarred arm, humming slightly, then trails her fingers down his chest, tweaking a nipple.  
  
“Hey!” He curls around his chest and sticks his tongue out.   
  
Laying back, he grabs another cupcake and shoves it in his mouth before she can lunge up and steal it. He ends up smearing frosting across his lips and chin in the process. She pulls herself up, climbing out of the pool and straddling one of his thighs. Leaning in, she proceeds to languidly kiss and lick his mouth clean. He moans. **Daaamn...** Darting her tongue between his lips, she fully explores his mouth, tasting the chocolate.  
  
Pulling back, she grins wickedly and purrs. “Pants wet now.”


End file.
